White Horse upon Green Pt: 1
by A.E. Hall
Summary: This is the life of Éomer third marshal of the mark. The story starts at the time of his father's death and onward. The first part in a series about the kings of the Riddermark. Rating for intense battle scenes. Reviews heartily welcome!
1. Bitter taste of Mortality

Hey everyone, thanks so much for stopping by to read my story! This will hopefully be the first of a series centering around the lives of the Kings of Rohan, working backwards from Éomer.

**Disclaimer:** I'm only going to put this here one time, I do not own LOTR in any entity (movie or book) and I do not own any characters, dates, locations etc. that are of the LOTR trilogy. I do own all original characters never mentioned in his books and the story line is my interpretation of the timeline of Éomer's life. Thank you.

Again I hope you all enjoy this, and in further chapters please see the end for responses to reviewers!

Part 1. White Horse upon Green

Chapter 1.

"Ride on, ride on, soldiers of Eorl!" The marshal shouted above the deafening noise of horse's hooves on ground, and men's war cries. The orcs were retreating; the Rohirrim had chased them for a long time, and over many miles to fight and now the remaining survivors were in close reach. The ground was hard, and vegetation scarce as spring was just beginning to arrive in the plains. The sun seemed bright and new as if returning for the first time from its winter solstice.

Éomund the second marshal of the Mark looked over to his nephew Théodred, who was riding with the company for the first time. The young man's face was all exuberance. His smile shone joyfully and fiercely against the stains of battle on his face and armor.

"Ride on!" they shouted in unison, feeling any moment their elation would carry them above the whole scene and into a land of inexpressible joy. Honor was their food and glory their sweet, strong drink. However glory is intoxicating.

On the borders of Emyn Muil, the survivors slowed, and turned to face their attackers. The riders slowed, and Éomund saw Théodred's confused look but raised his hand confidently.

"Do not leave them alive, kill them all," he shouted. Théodred looked at the foreboding spires of rock worriedly. Some deep fear seemed to tug at his heart when he saw the jagged points against the sky which was quickly filling with clouds.

Five or six soldiers moved forward to kill the orcs. An archer strung his bow and let it loose, instantly it found its target in the orc's heart. Men started to yell, startled. Éomund looked back, the archer was dead. As his arrow had found its mark, so had another arrow taken his own life. Éomund turned around dumbfounded.

Leering faces answered his question. "A trap!" he heard his nephew shout. Arrow met with flesh as their opponent was revealed. A company of orcs had lain in wait in the rocks to trap the riders. Men fell off their horses, as the orcs ventured into the fray. Éomund plunged his spear deep into an orc's heart, much as he had done many times before. But this time it was different, in his heart, he knew they would not win.

Frantically, he looked for his nephew, until finally he saw him. Théodred was in combat with an orc and not far off was another, with a crude black arrow aimed at Théodred's heart. Many thoughts passed through Éomund's mind; none regretting his final action.

Éomund, second marshal of the mark thought of his family as he urged his horse forward. Only of his wife, as he fought through the crowd; of his children, dear things and their future; and finally of Théodred his nephew who would one day be king.

Théodred glanced up as his uncle's horse trampled the orc with whom he was engaged. Horrified, he fell to his knees as a black arrow pierced his uncle's neck, an arrow, undoubtedly meant for him. Then all was black and he knew no more.

* * *

Théodred woke but did not open his eyes immediately. He did not know what had happened, had he fainted? No he decided, but when he opened his eyes it seemed different altogether. The light made his head spin and his stomach lurch. Éomund, the memories came flooding back, each one like a searing slap in the face. He was still on his horse, but Emyn Muil was gone, and so was his uncle.

Determined to find the battle grounds again, Théodred took in the surroundings. He would not leave his uncle's body to rot or worse, on some unknown plain. He recognized the place now; he was only some ways off from his destination, near the mouths of Entwash. Shrubs and such plants gave proof to this conclusion, as they surely fed from the moisture in the area. But first he would let his horse rest. He had undoubtedly carried Théodred to safety, and then stood still with his burden for many hours.

Slowly the young man dismounted, clenching his fists in pain. His muscles were a throbbing, misplaced mass with no inkling as to their appropriate uses. Théodred took a small amount of food from the bag and left Aros to graze.

Exhausted, he collapsed and did not move. With much effort, he forced his hand to his mouth and stuffed the bread in. It was soggy and slightly moldy but Théodred forced his teeth to grind, and his jaw to press down and retract in a fashion that he would laugh to see himself if, he had the energy. Hours later, he forced himself up with a groan, and mounted unsteadily, the memories were not forgotten. He urged his horse to a gallop and hoped that he was not too late to bury his dead.

* * *

He was not. Théodred leaned over and retched. His eyes would not look at the slaughter. Orcs were to blame, the filthy victors who had killed the riders and then, feasted. After that, Théodred did not notice when he threw up, it became as natural in that time as breathing, until there was nothing left in his stomach, and then he gagged. With resolution, he dismounted, and started to dig. His hands became scratched and worn and ragged. Finally he took up a man's broken spear and bound to it a wayward breastplate with an orcish whip.

Then he proceeded at the same pace, using his make-shift shovel. All the while he thought of his uncle and the black arrow meant for himself. Once he rested and only once, though his body begged for more. Two days, two nightmarish days in which he had sweat and bled and it was done. Now he buried his dead, all the while looking for his uncle and mourning for the lost. He did not find it embarrassing to cry, openly sob, for death had struck a foul blow.

Then he found it, a body, mutilated as the others, but with an arrow through the neck and a helmet with a plume of white horse hair, spotted with dried blood. He carefully laid it in the grave and looked away. Time was meaningless, the twenty or so riders whose bodies could be buried, were.

Dirt was thrown over and Théodred planted the spears in a circle on the burial place. His uncle's helmet he placed in the middle of the mound, with no desire to keep it. He mounted his horse and was glad to be facing home and not yet another dead man's body.

* * *

Théodwyn watched the water flow over her hands numbly. "He saved my life." Théodred said softly fingering his helmet sadly, not wanting to meet his aunt's eyes.

"And he would." The silence engulfed the room. Sorrow seemed to fill every corner, the fire and inviting chairs no longer held any comfort. The dancing flames seemed very cold.

"We were unprepared."

"He was ever unprepared. Hasty in his attacks, with few men. He just always had good fortune before now. It was folly."

"He was brave. Your husband died with his honor," he looked up and Théodwyn turned to him forlornly, sorrow intertwined with the blue of her eyes.

"My husband was ever brave, and never wise. What has he left us now? His honor will not greet my children every night, nor teach Éomer how to ride well." Droplets of water splashed onto the ground, silently, from her outstretched hands.

Théodred said nothing, but rose and gathered her in his arms. "No, no it will not."

The children cried that night. Éowyn sobbed, and Éomer upon learning he was now the man of the house sniffled, keeping the tears in check, with all the dignity of his eleven year old tear ducts. Théodred tucked Éomer in awkwardly and bade the children farewell. Then Éomer lay in the darkness and attempted to sleep. He could not. His father was gone, and the responsibilities weighed on his shoulders like an overfilled bag of meal, each one pressing him closer to the ground. Somehow, he had to stop himself from falling under the weight.

He could still see his father smoothing the mane of his horse and helping Éomer into the saddle in front of him. The horse had seemed so tall to him when he had first mounted. His father's strong arms had encircled him and guided the horse onto the plains, down the familiar dirt road towards the other horse herder's homesteads. The sun had shone in the sky warming his head. He remembered watching his father's silhouette on the ground and realizing how tall he was.

Lying in his bed he saw the silhouette once more, of the horse, now his father had disappeared from the shadow and all that remained was the slight, thin, wavering outline of himself. He was alone on the horse, alone in the world, alone to the responsibility of taking care of his mother and sister. Utterly alone.

* * *

**Note:** Yes, sadly I have begun to take the musical lyrics off of my story. This is very hard for me since I believe all mine were properly accredited and added something special to the story. I will still put them on the story and you can email me if you would like to recieve the chapters with the lyrics intact. 


	2. Leaving Home

Chapter 2.

Éomer woke the next morning with no recollection of falling to sleep. He still remembered all of the previous days happenings vividly. Reluctantly, he forced himself to put his feet on the cold, hard ground. His mother had gone to bed early the night before, and was still in her bed. Tiredly, he dressed himself, and ran across the floor and down the hall to his mother's room.

From the door, he heard mumblings and hurried gibberish. Slowly, he pushed the door open and entered into the bedroom. His mother's hair was damp, and lank against the white pillows. Her brow was covered with sweat and her mouth moved, uttering sounds that had no meaning.

His sister entered almost unnoticeably and looked worriedly at their mother.

"Will she die too?" the girl asked, her voice soft as if a whisper could hurt their mother. Éomer turned to her with an angry voice, "Be quiet Éowyn, she will not die, she is just sick, let us get the maids."

Éowyn nodded and followed her brother out obediently. But he cast a sidelong glance at their mother as they exited, in his heart he feared.

The doctor was sent for and when he arrived, the children were all but forgotten amidst the bustle. Éomer kept a silent vigil near the door. Soon a maid left the room and summoned him, ushering him back into the bedroom. The doctor was leaving, and as the two adults left, Éomer caught talk of "care for the children" with their conversation.

His mother lay weakly against newly washed pillows and coverlets. Her eyes were open, but distant; there was no life in them. Éomer approached the bedside and took his mothers damp hand in his own. "Mother…" he said quietly.

"I am sorry Éomer," she answered in a dull, joyless voice. "I am sorry I cannot stay with you and your sister. I can not live my son. The life has been snuffed out, like a candle on a windy day." She never met his eyes. He was glad for it, for his were filling with unshed tears.

"You cannot leave us mother," he stated, feeling as if a newly received wound had been reopened. She turned to him staring evenly into his eyes, "I cannot stay," she let go of his hand.

The moment fluttered for a second before Éomer's eyes, and he tried to grasp for it as it flew out of reach. The moment was gone, and with it he felt, warmth, and hope, and even perhaps life. His heart was torn from his body and there seemed to be nothing he could do to heal it.

"Take care of your sister, Éomer." His mother said quietly, and then she passed. Éomer sat on the ground and did not rise.

* * *

The next day passed in a flurry of crying maids, sobbing relatives, and busy undertakers. Éomer stood silently with Éowyn in the rain, as the men servants lowered their mother's body into the ground. The other people gathered, bowed their heads reverently, but Éomer could only stare at the body.

It was so cold, so lifeless. It was not his mother. Those still hands were not his mother's hands. His mother's hands, wiped away tears and stroked his head, and tucked the coverlet under his chin tenderly. Those lips, so devoid of color were not his mother's. They were not the same lips from which so much comfort, and joy had poured out. They would never move again.

The thought consumed him. Across the grave Éomer could see the king his uncle whose own eyes were filling with unshed tears for his favorite sister, and Théodred who looked back at him remorsefully. After the ceremony had been completed the royal visitors approached the children. Éowyn curtsied, but Éomer stood still and cold as ice.

"My dear children, my sister meant a great deal to me and as her children I care for you deeply also. It would greatly honor Théodred and I if you would come and stay with us, and be raised in Meduseld as my own children.

Éowyn seeing her brother's silence found her own tongue. "My lord, it would greatly honor us to live with you in Meduseld." Théoden nodded and looked curiously at Éomer.

"Surely my lord, the children are tired, let us rest tonight and depart for Edoras tomorrow." Théodred quickly stated, resting his hand upon Éomer's head. "Yes of course, my son you are more considerate than I, it is becoming late, let us retire."

Thus said the children were taken to their chambers, where both, upon contact with the feather filled pillows, fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes stared into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. The smell of sweat and blood and death filled his nostrils. His father's eyes stared into his, and then closed, his cracked lips moved, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell was overwhelming him.

Suddenly, Théoden was there with Théodred, both were looking at him with contempt; their arms were folded. "We cannot stay. We cannot stay. We cannot stay…" they glared at him again and then vanished. Éowyn's hand rested upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she skipped away, her white dress fluttering, a stark contrast to the darkness.

Éomer reached out his hands but they were turned black with dried blood, he collapsed. It was a dream, and Éomer woke curled in a tight ball. He looked at his hands and almost imagined the blood still there. The sun was just rising, setting the fields afire with colors. Éomer crept out of his room quietly and to the dining room. Théodred's hand came down on his shoulder and Éomer looked up startled. "We cannot stay…"

Éomer yelled and drew away frightened. "What did you say?" Éomer asked on the verge of tears. "We cannot stay long, young one, we need to be on our way to Edoras. Whatever is the matter?"

"Nothing." Éomer forced a weak smile and continued to the table. Théodred stared in pity at the boy, and guiltily he followed, the memories of Éomund washing over him. He vowed to himself silently in that moment, he would look out for these children, his savior's heirs and help them as much as possible. It soothed his conscience for the moment…

The children and the king's party sat silently while eating. Éowyn yawned several times, not being used to such early hours. Afterwards the children packed clothes they would need and other such belongings, the rest would be delivered to Edoras later. They were taken to their parent's room to select some keepsakes to treasure from their parents belongings.

Éowyn reluctantly took a necklace that had been their mother's, simple in design, a small, round, green pendent with a border of white horse hair strung on a golden chain. Théoden struggled with his emotions when he saw it, saying the necklace had been passed down to Théodwyn from their mother. He said it was only fitting that Éowyn should possess it now.

Éomer looked around quietly, but finally stopped before his fathers crested ring. He must of by chance, or fortune, forgotten to wear it the day of the battle. Éomer held it uncertainly. The crest was a horse bucking. It was much too big for his fingers but they placed it on a chain and Éomer, reverently put it over his head. He also took one other thing, his father's dagger that had been passed down father to son for many generations. It was never used but held a place of honor in a long wooden box.

By now the riders had prepared to go. The children were placed on a gentle-spirited horse together. Both had been trained from their first steps of horses and they had no trouble riding. Théodred rode by their side already determined to keep his silent vow and watch over the children. The ride began gloomily, the rain had left everything smelling damp, and as they went on Éomer felt that he had left something behind him. And he had, a portion of his broken heart.

* * *

**Note:**

Hey guys sorry it took so long to get this chapter up! Thanks so much to my first reviewers! For disclaimer see first chapter.

Isilhén- Thanks so much for helping me with that! Hope you actually read the story soon!

thekidmdd- Thanks so much for your comments! I hope you like this next chapter too. I like Éomer's character also.


	3. Learning to Live

Chapter 3.

The sky was the same as it had been the day they set out for Edoras. Storm clouds slowly moved overhead, a seemingly dark omen of their arrival. The gates were open, and Éomer started from his reverie as they entered the city. Peasants hurried to the side of the dirt road as their party rode forward. Some stopped to stare at the new arrivals, about whom much curiosity had been stirred. Murmurs made their way to the children's ears.

An old lady with a basket of vegetables watched with squinted eyes, "Oh, pity on the poor darlings."

A maid on the arm of a muscular farmer commented, "Look just like their parents no doubt."

A sneering man with a head of grey hair turned and corrected the maid, "No, the girl looks like Morwen, the king's own mother. The puffed-up, high and mighty lady of Lossarnach…"

Éomer did not look at the people. His head sagged, and he longed for home, or just for a place to lay his aching body. Éowyn lay against him limply half-asleep. The horses were also weary from the journey, and their legs worked slowly up the road. As they reached the Golden Hall, Éowyn woke and stared up at the overwhelming structure. They had been to this place only once before, but the memory of it had long ago been forgotten.

The building stood upon a green terrace. The roof and the posts of the doors seemed to shine a rich, warm gold despite the dreary, dark weather. The guards at the door were mighty men of Rohan, and reminded the children agonizingly of their father. They rose from their seats before the returning king of the Golden Hall. "Westu Théoden hàl!" the soldiers cried, standing proudly. Théoden smiled wearily, happy to be home. He watched Théodred helped the children dismount, and servants hurried to take the horses away.

The king had been very grieved to here of his sister's death, it had been so unexpected that she would die so early, and so suddenly after her husband's death. The lack of closure, of seeing his sister die, of seeing her last breath was also hard, he wanted to tell her everything he felt for her and thought of her. He watched the children follow their cousin up the stairs and smiled. Both of them showed so much of their mother's courage and strength, he resolved to encourage that in them. He would raise them as she would and make his sister glad to have entrusted them to his care.

Inside it was dark. Éomer looked around in wonder. Great pillars held the roof up. A few bright sunbeams entered through windows, and shone on the floor paved with many-hued stones, shaped into branching runes. Woven cloths hung on every wall. In the middle of the hall, lay a long hearth and beyond that, a dais on which sat a great throne. The children were hurried past the Great Hall to quarters of their own. The rooms were furnished richly, with wooden furniture and golden decorative designs. Both rooms connected to a warm sitting area with shelves and a small hearth. Éomer felt drowsiness wash over him, and he collapsed into his bed, immediately falling to sleep.

* * *

In the stables of the mighty hall the overseer of horses, watched the royal party make their way to Meduseld. His pale face showed no emotion as his beady eyes followed their progress.

"Damn the king for returning so early." He muttered through clenched teeth.

It would still take place, no mistakes would be allowed. His master demanded perfection. His mind raced like a thorough bred as he turned back into the darkness and the musty smell of hay. The plan must continue, he must set it in motion himself, but still be unattached to any guilt. If they succeeded, there was another in the stables able to take his place as the mole. He would be more highly prized as an informant in the castle anyway. His father Gálmóld's good name would help him once he achieved that higher status.

Yes, yes, it was working well, according to plan. As long as the others were not caught, all would run smoothly.

* * *

That night, Éomer was woken by the shrill neighing of horses, men's shouts, and steel upon steel. He sat up as horses hoof beats sounded down the path and away until they could no longer be heard. Silence ensued, and cautiously Éomer lay his head down upon the pillows. His room seemed much bigger now than it had formerly and it took a great while until he could close his eyes. The door joining his room with the sitting room opened. His sister peeked her head in and her hair seemed worse for a night tossing upon the pillows of her bed. She crept towards his bed like a mouse and climbed in next to him. She had been slight since she was born but the strength of her character made up for any smallness of stature.

She did not say anything to him as she sat but looked at her feet and legs folded beneath her, "Do you think," she started in a small voice, "do you think momma did not want to stay with us. Do you ever think that it's your own fault she died?"

"No Éowyn," he faltered wondering how his father would answer such a question, "Mother was sick, in her heart. Sometimes when a person leaves or dies you're so sad that your heart becomes sick," he said reassuring her.

She looked at him, "Éomer promise you will not leave also. Promise you will not get sick like momma," she said blue eyes piercing his own.

"I promise sister. You should go to bed now."

Éowyn nodded and climbed off the bed and went to her own room. The door shut with a creak and thud and then a moment later it opened again. "Éomer, can I sleep in here tonight?"

He nodded with a groan and moved to the foot of the bed with a pillow, "You can sleep on the bed, I will sleep here." Éowyn smiled for the first time in weeks and climbed into the bed. They both fell asleep in a few moments.

Morning seemed to come seconds there after. Both children were brought to the Golden Hall after eating the morning meal. There, Théoden sat with Théodred beside him, and his advisor Gálmód sat on the steps of the dais. Gálmód was an elderly man and had light brown hair, he had wise eyes that seemed to observe everything and a wide forehead. He had been the king's advisor for many years. The hall was dark in the faint light of silver sunbeams and the hearth, which warmed the whole room. Théodred beckoned to them discreetly as his father listened carefully to the testimony of a weary, wounded man, almost the age of thirty.

"And you say they only took the black horses?"

"Yes, my lord."

"How many men were there?"

"Five assaulted me, wild men. I would wager there were twenty in all though."

Théoden stroked his beard thoughtfully as Éomer examined the man. He had received two wounds, one on his arm, and another to his right leg. His clothes were in disarray, but more of a roll in the dirt, than of combat. His eyes were those of a cunning man, heavy-lidded, beady and calculating. Théoden again spoke,

"Your father, my advisor, says you are an honorable man."

"He is gracious my lord."

"I find it not; your father only speaks what is true. Therefore I trust his word, go now, have your wounds tended to. Then return to the stables and find a worthy replacement as overseer, you will join my guard."

"My lord, you honor me." The man said bowing low and then leaving. Éomer watched him leave curiously, even for his tender years he saw no good in this man, the men of the Mark were honest and did not tell falsehoods, and even the very young were excellent judges of character. But, perhaps it was simply the obvious Dunlendish blood in the man that caused Éomer's discomfort. He had very dark hair, unlike that of his father, his mother had obviously been not of Rohirrim descent. Éomer wondered if the king saw the same thing in this man, but was sure the king relied heavily on his advisor's opinion for this judgment.

"Théodred, I heard noises from the stables last night, what happened?" Éomer whispered to his cousin.

"Men came and stole ten of our finest horses, all black." Théodred replied returning his gaze forward. For two hours, men came before the king with news, accounts, theories, anything and everything related to the thefts. In the end the king dispatched a party of riders to scout the surrounding areas for any trace of the horses. In the land of the Riddermark, stealing horses was punishable by death. Nevertheless, no one in the court expected to see the horses that were stolen, ever again.

There were many rumors of a plot against Rohan from their neighbor Saruman. During the reign of Théoden's father, Thengel, the wizard had proclaimed himself the lord of Isengard and many said he aided several of their enemies. The whispers might have been true or false, but ever since his self-proclaimed lordship the orc attacks had been increased, and attacks from the fierce Haradrim had begun once again, on the borders of Gondor.

The noon meal came quickly, and Éomer was glad to sit for a time. They ate alone with Théodred, the king still sat in court. Afterwards the children explored the great hall, ran through corridors, opened doors and smelled the sweet flowers of the garden. It was indeed the prime place to get lost, find your way, and get lost again. Much later, they ran into Théodred who took both firmly by the hand and showed each of them to the study where two people sat. A man with an oddly shaped face (much resembling a pear) and a woman whose rolls of fat, created more chins than ever thought humanly possible.

"These, children, are your new tutors. They will care for your education from this moment on. Lord Thode, Lady Elfdine these are your new students Éomer and Éowyn."

Lord Thode stepped forward, his deep voice startling both children. "Indeed. Children I will be teaching you of law, history and proper riding skills. Lady Elfdine will be teaching you also." He looked up at Théodred, "Yes thank you for your timely entrance my lord, if there is nothing else?"

Théodred took the hint, "No indeed," he said leaving, and shutting the door behind him. The thud of the door slamming was the most forlorn sound either child had ever heard. Éomer looked back to the strange man who was clasping his hands and looking eagerly in the boy's direction.

* * *

"Oh that is good my lady, now lunge!" Three weeks later, in the courtyard near the armory, Lady Elfdine jumped with unimaginable speed away from her little lady's sharp jabs. Éowyn smiled as she lunged again. The cobblestones gleamed slightly in the morning light still wet with dew. The tutor held up her sturdy arms resignedly, "Oh let a lass catch her breath, young one. How you ever persuaded me to indulge you both in these lessons is beyond me." The big woman took in large breaths.

"Now, how about we let your brother try, shall we?" Éowyn nodded reluctantly, and handed her sword to her brother, who rose and took position.

They circled for a moment until Lady Elfdine struck, her blow made Éomer's arm vibrate. They struck out and parried until at last Éomer's sword was knocked out of his hand. "You are improving lad."

"You are winning only because you are bigger than me," he said embarrassed.

"Well then, is that the reason? You better start eating up then if you ever expect to defeat me," she answered with a loud, merry laugh.

Éowyn giggled, and Éomer turned to glare at her, "Come on now lad, let us try it again," their teacher chastised.

After fencing, was the noon meal with Lord Thode and then their daily lesson of History in the study. The study was always dark and smelled constantly of parchment. Lord Thode was not a Rohirrim and had learned the art of reading and writing in his own country of Gondor. The children sat in two small green chairs each decorated with the horse of Rohan. Lord Thode stood in front at his small oak table, on which was placed a various assortment of items. Feather quilled pens, maps, and remnants of past meals were all strewn across it.

"Today we talk of the King Brego, and his son Baldor."

"Is that the one that tried to walk the paths of the Dead?"

"Yes Éomer, now as I was saying, Brego was the king who drove the enemy out of the Wold, and completed the great hall of Meduseld in which we now stand. He…"

"Did he build it all by himself?"

"Of course not!"

"Well it is a good question Lord Thode. My brother only meant that it does say he completed it…"

"Well it only means that he was the one who was in charge when it was finished. Now if you don't mind? After Meduseld was built, they had a large celebration, and it was at that celebration that Brego's son Baldor…"

"The one that went on the paths of the…"

"I was getting to that Éomer! It was at that celebration, that Baldor announced his intention to tread the paths of the Dead. But he did not return."

"Well that was real smart!" Éowyn exclaimed her little hands resting upon the seat's arms.

"What do you mean by that Éowyn?"

"Just what it sounds like Lord Thode. My sister means that it was stupid to go. Why would you go on a path of the Dead, I mean does not the name tell you something?"

"That is very impertinent Éomer, and you did not allow your sister to answer. Éowyn?"

"No, he said it quite well," she answered simply. Lord Thode's pear-shaped face grew red, and he hurried out the door of the study.

"I wonder what has gotten into him." Éomer stated innocently.

**

* * *

****Note:**

Hey guys, another chapter! Thanks to my two faithful readers! This chapter is kind of sappy compared with the others, its pretty happy, happy, joy, joy if you know what I mean. But don't worry the next chapter will probably have them much older, I just wanted everybody get a feel for their childhood.

Isilhén- thank you so much for the reviews, I hope you like this chapter.


	4. Passing the Threshold

Chapter 4.

**_5 years later_**

The hall seemed somber in that moment, the weavings that shimmered on the walls shone out boldly. Eorl the young rode into battle bravely, his flaxen hair shining on bright mail. Éomer stood still in the midst of it, his blue eyes showing grey in their depths. He was sixteen now and ready to prove his manhood.

Sixteen was the significant age of all young men in Rohan. Tradition stated this because at the age of sixteen, Eorl the first king of the mark had chased his father's murderer, a horse; the forefather of the mearäs over the plains. He had spared his life, and mounted him and named him anew Felaròf, and the horse bore him until the end of his days.

Through the side door Théoden entered, his mail already donned in expectation of the battle to come. Then Éowyn came forth, dressed in white, cold beauty as that of steel already blossoming forth at the age of twelve. In her hands was the raiment of war from the king's own hoard. Théoden drew closer as Éowyn helped to fasten the chain mail on Éomer.

In silence they both helped with the mail. On Éomer's head Théoden placed the helm which held no design but was sturdy and plain. In his hand Éowyn placed a round shield whose bosses were overlaid with gold and set with gems of green, white, and red. Over the corselet of chain mail they placed a green, leather coat decorated only with strange runes that likewise decorated the floor of the hall.

Then both stepped back in unison and Éowyn bowed her head in reverence as Théoden called out.

"Arise now, arise, Riders of Théoden! Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward. Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded! Forth Eorlings!" His deep voice reverberated throughout the empty hall.

Éomer answered with equal fervor, "Command me!"

Éowyn raised her head, eyes shining with unshed tears. Solemnly, Théoden left the hall. Éowyn hugged Éomer, "Be careful."

"I will come back Éowyn, do not be worried! Make sure to give Lord Thode a hard time for me will you?" he said playfully tugging his sister's hair. Éowyn nodded and handed Éomer his short sword; the type used by all Rohirrim for its tactical advantages on horse. It was nameless until, as tradition stated the young man had fought his first battle, and the sword was stained with the blood of his enemy.

Éomer left then to the stables to join the other soldiers, his quick footsteps sounding loud on the stones of the hall. On this day rumors of orcs pillaging villages sent them out. Éomer was the youngest, no other young man had come to prove himself. They mounted, thirty or so strong and rode east. Éomer found himself next to a grim soldier whom he recognized as Grima son of Gàmóld, the king's advisor who now rode up front. And Théodred flanked his other side where he talked merrily and assuaged Éomer's growing fears of battle.

Grima stayed mysteriously quiet all the while, sometimes looking to the side as if expecting something. He acted strangely as if waiting for something to happen. Éomer was able to ignore it as the ride was pleasant otherwise. Summer had just recently arrived and the sun shone down warmly across the golden fields which seemed alive when rustled by a faint breeze. In fact any danger seemed miniscule while basking in the beauty of the plains.

Théodred was worried inwardly but covered it well with his talk. He feared for Éomer, and was determined to watch over him, he would not have another life on his hands. They rode for nearly two hours before finding the orc's trail. Éomer was surprised at the obvious tracks but being inexperienced did not worry over it.

The battle came at the base of a large hill, on the edge of steep drop which went down to the bank of a rushing river. The orcs attacked as they came around a bend forming the hill, first only with arrows, but then with full force towards the riders. Éomer was overcome by the sounds, smells, and sights of the scene laid before him. At first he was frozen but necessity forced him into movement. An orc attacked viciously, slashing his sword aimlessly. Éomer drove his sword into him, and pulled it out.

The metal was now stained with dark, oozing, blood. He wanted to stop and ponder the meaning of that moment when he had passed over the threshold of youth into this strange and brave new land of manhood, but he could not. More orcs came, and each had to be destroyed.

Théodred was overcome. Movement escaped him as he was overwhelmed with memories of past battles, of defeats, of the defeat. He did not know what had triggered such memories, perhaps seeing Éomer there fighting with the ferocity of his father had done it. Self-preservation urged Théodred on, his life, but more importantly Éomer's caused him to shout out his fierce battle cry and move into action as he had done so many times before.

Éomer looked to where the attack seemed fiercer. Théoden was in the midst of it. Théodred came to the same realization at that moment and the two horses sprinted to the king's aid as one. Éomer was forced to wait and make a path by hewing orc's heads to the ground. Théodred was detained in the same manner. The orcs seemed to have created a hedge around the king and a few other men, making it impossible to reach them.

Another horse hurried past in a blur. Éomer blinked several times sure his eyes were deceiving him. The orcs did not attack the rider and almost seemed to make a clear path. It was Grima.

At that moment two orcs had trapped the king. One Théoden did not see was ready to kill. As he lunged Grima met the crude sword with his own and drove his sword through the orc violently. The battle continued but few orcs remained, many had fled seemingly at the moment Grima had saved the king's life.

Éomer looked around to number the dead. One drew his attention. Grima walked towards his father's body and knelt by his side. Grima whispered unintelligible words in his father's ear. Then he rose, drawing his own dagger out from his father's heart. Éomer's breathing stopped as he looked around for another witness but there was none. He looked back and Grima was mounting his horse with a smug expression of victory on his face.

Gàmóld was the only dead man among all the riders, killed not by an orc but unbeknownst to the others by his son's hand. A voice drew Éomer from his reverie. The king was addressing Grima. "My son, I am sorry for the loss of your father, he was an honorable man who always spoke the truth. I thank you for your service in this battle and for saving my life. As heir to your father's household, I pray you will take his place as my advisor."

Éomer drew closer, joining the riders who were watching. "You honor me my lord, and I pray I may be as helpful a man to your majesty as my father," Grima bowed, mock grief in every gesture.

Éomer wanted to shout out his crime, yell Grima's sin to the whole world and run the snake through where he stood. His mind screamed "WORM!" All the men yelled a salute to Théoden and Grima. Éomer remained frozen, his eyes met Grima's and both pairs were filled with hatred for each other. Éomer knew in the depths of his heart that Grima would stop at nothing to kill him also, and every other man loyal to the king and to truth, out of his way.

The entire ride back, Éomer longed to tell Théodred but something urged him otherwise, and Grima's steely eyes were fixed on him. Now he longed to be back in the hall, he longed for Éowyn's ear but he feared for her also and resolved to keep silent. This snake seemed more dangerous than he could comprehend, ready to strike at his heel whenever unguarded.

But, he had fought in his first battle and that pride filled his chest, he was now a man. When they reached the hall after a weary ride Éowyn greeted him. "Hail man of Rohan! What have you named your sword?" she asked a bright smile on her face. Éomer turned and met Grima's gaze once more and with determination answered.

"Gùthwinë, for it shall be a battle friend to me and it will bring swift and silent death on anyone shown traitorous to Rohan." Éowyn looked concerned at her brother's tone of voice but Éomer did not look to her for reaction, he looked to Grima.

"A very good name master Éomer," he answered, and Éomer could almost see the forked tongue flicker between pale lips. "Ah, but you have not introduced me to your beautiful little sister, master Éomer," he spoke again.

Éomer's eyes lit with fire, "Nor shall I wor…" he started but was interrupted by Théodred's hearty backslap. "A very good name for your sword indeed young one." He complimented, guiding his young companion towards the bath house. Éomer looked back to see Grima talking to Éowyn who was smiling in return. It took all of his strength not to slay him at that moment.

He tried to be merry as were the other men, and revel in the compliments they gave him, but it was useless. All he could see clearly was Gàmóld dead and Grima wiping the dagger on the ground.

A worm had entered the center of their lives and the rot could already be smelt from where Éomer was standing.

**

* * *

****Note:**

Hey everyone, if you are reading my story I would really appreciate a review! This one had quite an age jump of 5 years and hopefully you will all like the plot being built here. Anyway thanx for reading! by the way the name of Éomer's sword means battle friend in old English.

Isilhén- thank you so much for your encouragement!


	5. Ghosts

Chapter 5.

It was the same dream…

His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes staring into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. The smell of sweat and blood and death; his father's eyes staring into his, and then closing, his cracked lips moving, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell was killing him.

Suddenly, Théoden was there with Théodred, looking at him with contempt, their arms folded. "We cannot stay. We cannot stay. We cannot stay…" they glared at him again and then vanished. Éowyn's hand was upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she walked away, her white dress fluttering, a stark contrast to the darkness.

But now a new part had been added. Suddenly, he saw Gàmóld lying on the ground, dagger-wound to his heart. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" His eyes opened wide staring at something behind Éomer. He turned as a hand gripped his shoulder. He was face to face with the worm; his tongue flickered as he spoke. "I am here Éomer. I will always stay!" then he pulled out a dagger still stained with his father's blood and put it to Éomer's chest. The black blood was still on Éomer's hands.

He woke, sweating profusely. The dream kept coming back to haunt him, now his hands were likewise blackened by Gàmóld's blood. The change had been imperceptible at first but ever growing. Grima had settled into his new position comfortably and now seemed to be gaining more control of the king's ear. Éomer had told no one of the incident that had happened over three years ago. The memory of it still gnawed at him night and day.

Éomer forced the memories away as he dressed for his sister's banquet later that day. On this day she passed into womanhood. She was of fifteen years old now and ready to become a proper lady. She was still as wild as ever though and Éomer had little hope that this ceremony would perform some great transformation. He loved his little sister dearly, but her exuberance more often caused trouble than could be desired.

He put all worries aside, tonight would be a celebration. His hair was combed and his dark green tunic clean. The few hairs that made up the beginnings of his "beard" were trimmed back almost into nonexistence.

His room was now separate from Éowyn's quarters down the hall, but still extremely comfortable. The bed placed against the north wall, was made of a dark rich wood inlaid with gold that wound through the headboard and bolsters. A luxurious green blanket covered the entirety of it.

The west wall contained only the door, and the south a woven tapestry depicting his father's last battle with the orcs, made in brilliant shining threads of blues, greens, purples, reds and of course gold.

Against its east side wall was a dresser and shelves which held a couple of books but were almost completely taken up with other articles. His father's knife still resided in its own case, mementos of various battles, and his father's signet ring. Slowly, he turned and took it down from the dusty shelf, rubbed it on his tunic and reverently placed it on his right pointer finger.

A knock came at the door and Théodred leaned in, a playful smile on his face. "Done grooming Éomer? Do not worry about those pitiful hairs on your chin, brother; they are so small no girl will see them."

Éomer turned and glared, "Just because the ladies dance with me more than with you does not mean you have to be jealous."

"Ah really?" Théodred answered picking a pillow up from Éomer's bed.

Éomer turned to answer and was met by the pillow full force in the face. "Yes well you better fix your hair madam." Théodred continued bolting out of the room. Éomer shook his head, for being thirty-two years of age Théodred certainly did not act like it. Éomer exited the room and made his way to his sister's quarters. He knocked at the door from which he could hear a maid yelling and scuffling noises.

"Éowyn?" he ventured when no one answered.

"Helsum, get the door, it is my brother. Oh really, I did not hurt you that badly."

Éomer could not keep from laughing. The door opened and he stepped inside. Éowyn's maid Helsum lie on his sister's bed, hand on her head. "So what happened here? Wrestling with the maids again?"

Éowyn answered from inside a side dressing room. "Very funny! No, she was trying to help me brush my hair and it was so painful, that, well I accidentally elbowed her in the eye."

"Accidentally?" Éomer answered skeptically.

"Yes, she is right my lord, it was an accident this time."

"Just wait a moment brother, I am almost ready."

"Well it would be like you to be late to your own coming-of-age anyway." Éomer answered with a laugh.

He looked around the room as he waited. The bed with four tall posts rested under a white canopy, nearly opaque but for the gold thread that went across it in waves. The sheer material tumbled down the posts to the floor. The bedspread was dark green as his own, but her bed itself was made of a lighter wood. She also possessed a very similar chest of drawers and shelves but both had extremely different items decorating the surface. A plethora of items including a hair comb, two unsheathed knives, a pen, a map of Rohan and Gondor, a few dried simbelmynë, and an arrowhead found in a field, of which she was convinced was elvish in origin.

The curtain slid back and Éowyn walked towards him. "Do you approve?" she said smiling.

Éomer smiled back, "No, for you are much too pretty to come down to the hall with me"

She was dressed in a fluttering white from head to toe, that painfully reminded Éomer of his reoccurring dream. She wore no decoration other than the green pendent taken so long ago from their parent's room. Her golden hair fell about her shoulders like a meandering river. Éomer proffered his arm solemnly and led her towards the dining hall.

The music coming from the room before they entered was lively and filled both with excitement. For Éowyn's coming of age, like many other girls' celebrations, she would finally be allowed to take part in the dancing for the first time. Her first dance would be with her father, or in this case Théoden, and then after the meal any person of her choosing. Many girls would practice for weeks with friends of their own so they would not be embarrassed when it came time to dance.

They entered through the doors and all the music softened as Théoden stepped forward to take Éowyn's hand. He smiled at the two children together, so much time had passed. The king and his adopted daughter glided easily onto the floor as the music again grew loud. Everyone watched in respect as the young lady danced her way into womanhood.

The room was almost as the large as the Great Hall itself but not quite. Short wooden tables went all the way around the outside of the rectangular shape, the inner floor kept back for the dancing. The dining hall was not nearly as somber as the Great Hall but was decorated in flowing tapestries and beautifully crafted lanterns.

Éomer looked around, eyeing the guests that had been invited. Relatives of course were there along with close friends and nobles, Grima was the only one who sat closer to the king than some of them. A few guests of honor were there as well. One caught his eye, an older man about Théodred's age with unusual dark reddish brown hair. He was dressed nicely, in fashions that Éomer took to be from Gondor. He was sitting with a group of young men who were watching his sister avidly.

Among them were two of his own friends, Dengal and Eror. Éomer would not mind if Éowyn took a liking to Eror but Dengal was not one to get involved with. He was in short, quite a womanizer. The dance ended shortly and Éomer hurried to join the group of young men at the table. He hoped to become acquainted with the strange guest.

Éomer sat down beside Théodred, who was engaged in a conversation with the man. He looked noble, no doubt some sort of royalty. His eyes were a soft brown, like the leather of his boots. "Ah, Éomer, this is Boromir, son of the steward of Gondor." Théodred said as he noticed Éomer.

The man, Boromir nodded his head and Éomer did likewise. "So you are the pretty little girl's brother, correct?"

"Yes," said Éomer, in shock that the steward's son would come to a small celebration like this.

"But surely, you do not honor us with the visit merely to enjoy the party?" Éomer continued.

"No, I do not. I am in the midst of an errand and am taking shelter in Rohan for the night. I was simply fortunate enough to join you on such a happy occasion."

Éomer smiled and in jest continued, "Happy for some."

Théodred laughed, "What, you do not want your sister to dance?"

"Oh, she can dance, with the right person."

They all laughed and continued to eat. Éomer enjoyed Boromir's added company. He proved very admirable, and the only thing Éomer could complain of was his older age, otherwise he would be someone who would fit into the family well as Éowyn's husband. Oh well, she would be married soon enough. As the meal drew to a close, Éomer noticed Grima rise and make his way to where Éowyn sat.

Boromir followed the gaze and saw the look of distress on the young man's face. Silently, he rose and made a quicker route to Éowyn. Éomer did not see him rise and was extremely relieved as he saw the angry expression on Grima's face as he watched the girl leave with Boromir to the dance floor. Éomer smiled, "Yes, I like that man," he muttered.

After that dance Grima sat at the table with a sullen expression. Éomer proceeded to enjoy the rest of the celebration, after her dance with Boromir, Eror would be waiting and all would go well. The second dance began and Éomer threw up his hands as Dengal escorted Éowyn back onto the dance floor.

Boromir sat beside him and watched in amusement. "I cannot help you with every man you do not like young one." Éomer smiled sheepishly, "I know, thank you for what you did, Grima is far too old for her anyway."

"Really, and I am so young compared with him?" Boromir laughed again, "She seems to like that one."

"Yes, that is the problem."

"He seems decent enough."

"Yes, if you are another man and not the girl he seems to be enamored with for the moment."

"Ah… Well I must say I like Edoras. You all are so much more relaxed here. And one cannot forget the music, much better for dancing." He said quickly changing the uncomfortable subject. They talked long into the night, and Éomer found himself much impressed with the man. Soon he found himself saying goodnight and escorting his sister back to her room.

"So, what was the nicest compliment you received tonight?"

"Well, I do not know. Many said I was the fairest lady in all of Rohan. But I think the nicest was from Grima."

"Grima?"

"Do not act so surprised. He said I was truly far too beautiful for Rohan and must have been stolen from the elves as a child."

Éomer did not like the haughtiness which invaded Éowyn's voice as she spoke those words. "I think Grima is too clever for his own good. The elves are said to be ethereal beings. Though I doubt very much that there was a prettier woman at the dance tonight, let us not get too puffed up. You seemed to dance with Dengal many times."

"Yes, he is very nice, and handsome if I may say so."

"Sister, I do not think it wise to spend much time with him, he is quite a flirt and whatever his feelings may be, his sincerity cannot be trusted. Are we agreed?"

Éowyn nodded with a smile and entered her room. Éomer walked slowly to his room, taking in the silence like water. Wearily he reached his quarters, changed clothes, and sank into the coolness of his own bed, fearing for a moment, and hoping for a dreamless sleep.


	6. Losing Ground

Chapter 6.

Éomer rubbed his aching neck softly as he removed his armor and placed it on the shelves in the armory. The room glowed softly as the candlelight bounced off shields and spear heads. It seemed bathed in an almost unreal gold hue that made his eyes ache. His head throbbed at the memory of the fight, a constant falling back and giving way before they finally drove the orcs off with a renewal of resolve. It had been many weeks since Éowyn's coming of age, and the attacks seemed to be multiplying at an incalculable rate since then.

All the attacks seemed to issue from the west, from Isengard some said. The wizard Saruman had finally turned on them and joined with the ever increasing shadow in Mordor. But they were only whispers, discouraged at present by the king and his advisor. No man could tell for sure what evil claimed so many of the Eorlings lives so mercilessly. However, Éomer could not help but half-believe the whispers of treachery.

The king still hoped to preserve their alliance with the wizard, and Grima discouraged any action against such a powerful ally. On recollection, Grima discouraged any action of any kind, which led to their almost nonexistent victory in the first place. Éomer thought back to the morning, when the first scout had informed the king of the third attack that week. He had been in the Great Hall, watching the proceedings in Théodred's stead, as he was gone on another task…

* * *

"My lord king, they are proceeding to lay waste to many of the outer homesteads along the Anduin. Many of the horse breeders there are dying trying to protect their homesteads and families." the tired man said with a pale, sweaty face that spoke of his hasty ride to Edoras.

"And how should we know this to be true, king. He is only one witness, let us wait for another to come and verify his account. One so hard-pressed may unknowingly confuse the facts," Éomer heard Grima whisper in the king's ear.

"My lord, if we wait to attack they will undoubtedly gain ground and pillage more homesteads before we can prevent them," Éomer said quietly with a quick glare at Grima.

"And yet, if he is wrong we lose many a trained fighting man, and our own king to a rumor. If an enemy attacks while you are gone chasing a whim…"

"Father, if we tarry for more information many will die, for the sake of our knowledge."

Grima turned suddenly and glared at Éomer, "You address the king inappropriately Éomer son of Éomund." The court seemed to quiet at his accusation, all looking towards the king for his own reaction. Éomer was startled; he had always addressed Théoden as such since he had been a small child.

"King will do Éomer, sister-son." Théoden said quietly.

Éomer was taken aback at his words; he had never addressed him so formally. Sister-son, the word sounded begrudged and cold. He had called him son before, when the days had not been so dark and the dais on which the king sat, not so crowded.

Théoden spoke again, more loudly, "We will act, but with a small company commanded by Grimbold. I will not join the éored, for fear of leaving our backs exposed to our enemies in Edoras."

Men mumbled among themselves, the king not coming? It had not been heard of for a threat so close to Meduseld. Could such a small company under the command of a lesser marshal defeat a threat said to number at least two-hundred? They had questioned well, the battle was long and never had they lost so many needlessly. The men were disheartened to fight under the banner of a king who sat on a throne in the city. It was not the Rohirrim's way.

* * *

Éomer's train of thought vanished as Théodred entered the armory searching for him. "Ah, here you are, and in one piece, this will please father."

"Yes it will please my mother-brother," Éomer muttered bitterly.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, why have you come to seek me?"

"Your cheerful company to be sure," Théodred grinned jokingly and then somberly, "Éomer I heard of what took place this morning in court, do not be disheartened, it was a miscommunication of some sort."

"No, I heard what he said from his own lips, if anything, he had miscommunicated to Éowyn and me our position in this family. Do not worry it will be remedied, though I am sure Éowyn will be as astonished at the change as I."

"I do not believe father meant it that way."

"Yes, _your_ father did. Though he did have help from Grima. Let us stop this debate, my head feels like a hundred horses trample upon it, what did you seek me out for?" he asked resting his hand on a rough wood shelf.

"The king wants your account of the battle."

"Indeed that is a relief, I thought it would be something extremely difficult like killing ninety and six orcs single-handedly, and unhorsed." Éomer replied sarcastically as they continued on to the king's study.

It had been nearly an hour after sunset and the halls were dimly lit by candles as they walked silently to the study doors. From the outside they heard conversation between Grima and Théoden. Éomer heard his name mentioned but did not pause to hear the conversation, instead he knocked loudly. He would not sneak around and listen to words not meant for his ears like some lesser men in Rohan. Their voices immediately stopped and Grima quietly told them to enter.

Éomer swung open the door, "My lord, Grima." He said nodding his head to each in turn. Théodred stood silently by his side. The room was dim but lit by a few candles. Éomer remembered back to when he had been a boy and had first entered this room. Tapestries depicting many battles hung from every wall and souvenirs of past battles decorated the tables. The Eorlings were a people of history, though none was hardly ever written down, it was told in song and in art passed down from generation to generation. The king sat in a large chair and behind him stood Grima; both sets of eyes were fixed on Éomer.

"Éomer you come from a hard-won battle, can you explain to us why this victory was so scarce?" Théoden asked his keen eyes watching for any untruth.

"My lord, the reason is solely this, if we had in fact left the moment that the scout told us of the attack, had more men, and been led by our king instead of another man, we would have quickly ended the confrontation."

"Éomer, you place the blame on this throne?" Théoden asked with a scowl.

"Yes my lord," he answered blatantly," the men were too few, and dispirited that their king who had always rode out to battle before would not lead them. They felt they were sent because it was a hopeless mission, and we only wished to delay the orcs by sending them."

"Then why pray tell would I send my nephew into the fray if that was so?"

Éomer paused and Grima's mouth turned up slightly in understanding, "It is said my lord, that I am out of favor with the king and he wished to see me dead by sending me out with them."

Théoden's face grew thoughtful, and for a moment Éomer thought he could see the realization of what he had done play across the king's face, but it was merely a wish. "Indeed, this is nonsense, my lord. And you Éomer son of Éomund are foolish. Do you wish your uncle dead upon a plain? He is of many years, and would fall valiantly but to no avail. No indeed we need his wisdom of many years to lead us, not to be wasted on war-mongering." Grima said quietly, glaring at Éomer like a parent scolding an ignorant child.

Éomer remained silent, how could this worm say such things to the king and still live. Théoden was still stronger than many of the young soldiers and war-mongering, as Grima called it was the essence of the king's soul. It was of any Eorling's soul, they lived to ride across the plains, the pounding of the horses' hooves echoing through them, matching with the beating of their rider's hearts.

It was to see their spear heads glow in the morning light and the golden fields rush before them and behind them in a continual motion. It was to protect the land they loved, and the people they loved, and the life they loved. It felt like the world he had known for so long was drowning in a rain of deceit and despair. The ocean of hopelessness consumed his soul and he knew not what to say.

He heard Théodred clear his throat and speak, "Grima, you are of more years than I, but you seem to have the wisdom of a child. What you call war-mongering, is what have kept these plains ours for many decades. You both scold Éomer like he is a newborn, but his words are true. This morning you delayed the king, and persuaded him not to go on the mission, the result was the death of thirteen men, proved in battle and brave-hearted beyond compare. If you can accept that blood Grima, I have nothing else to say. Now if you will excuse us," he concluded turning on his heel and leaving with Éomer close behind.

Outside of the room Éomer felt he could breathe again. He paused and Théodred turned to see what the problem was. "I have just remembered that I was supposed to see Éowyn after I returned, I better go now and see if she is still awake."

Théodred nodded and turned to go, "Théodred, thank you for what you said in there, it was…"

"No thanks needed my brother, now I know why you hate that worm so much."

"Yes, a worm, but with a tongue like honey, his sweetened words please the king, but they will poison the kingdom."

"Wormtongue, a very fitting name," Théodred said quietly with a laugh.

Éomer turned and hurried down the hall to Éowyn's quarters. With regret, he thought of the other scolding he would now receive from his younger sister for waiting so long to come. He enjoyed the silence, as he walked towards his sister's quarters. It seemed that in the past few weeks his headaches had been unceasing.

He turned the corner and stopped suddenly.

His sister stood there talking in hurried whispers to a tall young man, Dengal. Dengal nodded and leaned his head down to meet her lips with his own. Éomer strode towards them and both stepped back a pace startled at his intrusion.

"Dengal," he said in a low voice bordering on a growl.

The young man's face was pale and his mouth opened slightly, "My lord, my lady," he said quickly turning on his heel and striding away. Éowyn watched him go then turned back to her brother with a challenging air about her.

"Sister."

"Brother," she replied evenly though with a hint of guilt.

He took another step and looked down to meet her eyes, which were glaring up at him. "Sister besides the fact that it is past sunset and we are steps away from your chambers, I believe we agreed that for the time being it would be best if you stayed away from Dengal."

"You agreed, I spoke nothing of the matter."

"I remember clearly that your mannerisms towards the statement were quite in agreement."

"A nod and a smile do not always symbolize unquestioning agreement Éomer."

"Of course not, but from a woman of your status and personality, I honestly did not expect it to mean nothing else. I would assume (as I did then) that you are not a person who makes deceiving their older brother a practice."

Éomer went on quite heatedly, "Besides which, I believed that you were a person of sense who would listen to advice on a subject from a person who is to be trusted. Dengal is not a man suited to you, he is as I believe I stated before a flirt. He views you only as a passing fancy and his interest in you continues to endure only because it is heightened by your royal status."

"You assume many things that are not true brother, you may know him as a soldier and drinking comrade, but not all his aspects have been revealed to you. I know this may come as a bitter revelation but you are not omniscient."

"I have never claimed to be sister," Éomer paused and put a hand to his head, "If nothing else only think on this, remember how he ran away like a scared rabbit to his hole just a moment ago. He left you alone to defend his actions; does not this say something of his character?"

Éowyn ignored the statement and blundered on, "You are so intent on keeping me as I am, your dear little sister that you are blind to any of my own desires. It is exactly as Grima said, you are afraid of change Éomer…"

"Grima?"

"Yes Grima, our uncle's advisor whom you seem to abhor so much. That is alone an example proving my statement, he is a new advisor with new ideas so you shun him and hate him before even knowing him.

Éomer's voice grew lower and he glared at Éowyn his blue eyes lit on fire, "You know not of what you speak. I know all I want to of that disgusting worm and his ways, and I do reject him and them with my whole heart, which has not completely turned to stone and ice like your own. Neither you whom I thought I knew, nor that filthy, vile snake knows my mind. I came here seeking repose and comfort, though you don't ask of it I will tell. The battle today was scarcely won, partly due to your precious Grima, and thirteen good men died far from their homes. Théodred and I must visit their families tomorrow with Grimbold and offer what comfort we can."

Éowyn was startled by his bitter words and drew back temporarily stunned. She showed some concern when he spoke of the dead mingled with regret. "Brother, I did not…"

He interrupted her, "I would still talk to you and Dengal tomorrow after we are done however, in the courtyard if that is acceptable and if your rabbit friend will join us."

Éowyn did not respond to the barb but quickly turned and with the slam of her door left her brother to the silence of the hall.

**

* * *

**

**Note:**

Hey all, hope some new people will read this chapter! Also I made some changes to chapter 5, so please reread it. Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter! To see disclaimer and other random stuff please see the first chapter.

isilhén- thanx so much for reading my work, sorry I'm not updating very fast, I hope to gain some ground in the next couple days.


	7. Visitors

Chapter 7.

The day had already been in existence many hours when Éomer finally looked up at the sun. It was shining down on the fields with an exuberance that lightened his heart. A chilly closing of fall was coming closer but the high and mighty sun did not seem to notice. In fact almost all the grasses were dead, and crunched beneath their horse's hooves as they went on towards Edoras.

They had just finished visiting each of the fallen rider's houses. They had told their wife or child or parent (sometimes all three) that they would never see their relation again. It was a daunting task to say the least, to stand there and tell them the news without show of emotion, politely decline staying and move on to the next house where they would repeat it all over again. Éomer wondered if he sounded as cold as he felt when they visited each home, if he looked as uncaring as he thought he did as they quickly visited one after another.

He thought of Dengal and his sister again and of their meeting this day in the courtyard. How had Éowyn become so conniving? Couldn't she see what a womanizer Dengal was? He would show her, on Éowyn's part the affection might be sincere but on the other hand she might desire the relationship knowing that Éomer did not like the match. Enough approved, quality time together would show the true nature of their attachment.

"And what has carried you away so deep in thought brother?" Théodred asked continuing to refer to Éomer as he always did despite his father's change.

"Éowyn."

"Dengal eh?"

Éomer turned with a laugh, "Am I the only one in our family who did not know of their recent attachment?"

"I suppose, though father might be unaware."

"Well then, since you know all about it you need not ask me about it and you can leave me to my own thoughts."

"Fine, I will, though I would like to know what has caused such a deep frown on your face concerning it."

"I went looking for Éowyn last night as you know and there I found Dengal and her together."

"In her room?" Grimbold asked as he spurred his horse up to their sides.

Éomer glared at him jokingly, "I do not remember including you in this conversation. Of course not in her room, but in the hall outside which is nearly as bad by my reckoning. They were…"

"Oh let me guess, staring into each other's eyes talking in quiet whispers, then just as there lips meet they notice you are there watching them," Théodred said in a star-struck voice.

"Exactly, then Dengal runs away like a scared dog with his tail between his legs and you yell at Éowyn a bit," Grimbold finished mimicking Dengal's cowardly expression.

Éomer looked at both of them quite amazed, laughing out loud as the two imitated the scene "Yes, how did you both know, is word of my sister's iniquity all over the blasted kingdom?"

Both of the other men laughed, "Of course not, it was a guess on my part and I daresay on your cousin's," Grimbold said trying to regain his composure.

"I'm happy it has brought amusement to someone," Éomer responded trying to act disgruntled, and not succeeding. Grimbold was a good man, almost five years older than Théodred and happily married. He was a good commander and a brave leader who would rather die than leave his men behind. It was only by good fortune or some intervention from a power greater, which had kept him alive in all probability. The thought sobered him, it could have been his bride and two children that they had broken the news to, it could have been Éowyn, or Théoden.

The other two continued to laugh as they approached the gate to the city. They opened with a creak and a groan and the men spurred their horses up to the top of the first hill. They stopped at the barns outside of the Golden Hall to return the horses to their stalls. Éomer led Dæcer to his stall beside that of Cenemod, Théodred's equine companion. Beside Cenemod's stall was a large one reserved for Shadowfax, the only mearas to grace the royal stables. Éomer removed the saddle from Dæcer's back and rubbed his nose gently.

The royal stables were almost as large as the throne room of the great hall. They were a calming place, full of the smell of fresh hay, and horses. They were always busy, and men rushed to and fro constantly cleaning the horses' hooves or brushing them down. Here was peace, here was a pause in the day's busy circle, to rest for a moment and enjoy the company of some of the finest friends ever to be found, the horses.

From afar Dæcer looked grey but in actuality, he was dappled over the whole of his body. He had been a companion through the whole of four years and had proved a faithful spirit. Éomer turned and was startled to see an old man leaning against the rails of Shadowfax's compartment. "Sir, may I ask what your business in these stables," he asked cordially, wondering how he had not noticed him before.

"Well that was a most polite way of saying get out as I have ever heard," the man chuckled, his voice a deep, scratchy sound, "By asking me that, you ask me my name, my purpose, and my hurried absence all in one statement." The man continued with another chuckle and a sigh.

"You, mistake me sir, it is only that, the horse you watch so keenly is quite a wild one and I feared you might attempt something that was not wise," Éomer replied

Quite confused by the man's words, Théodred had already left and no one was around to help him should this man turn out to be a violent lunatic.

"Well, since you asked so kindly, my name is Gandalf, Gandalf the grey by many. Your name I take is Éomer son of Éomund if I am not mistaken."

Éomer looked at him perplexed, "It is, are you Gandalf the wizard of who so many speak?"

"Indeed I am, Gandalf means me. Though I would not know if I am the one of whom so many speak, however I am a wizard as you call it. Now if we are quite done with the necessary pleasantries I think it is time you took me to your uncle. I have tried unsuccessfully to gain entrance to the hall with my friend three times this day. We both are in need of shelter and I am quite sure your uncle will give it, if not gladly then out of courtesy."

"Your friend?"

"Yes, oh I suppose he needs a lengthy introduction as well. This is Strider a ranger from the Northlands," Gandalf said motioning as a man stepped out of the shadows to his side.

Éomer looked with curiosity at both of them. As a people who did not lie, it was impossible to lie to the people of Eorl undetected. Éomer saw no falsehood but he was confused by why a wizard would visit Rohan in such a way, and why the guards would not let him enter. He sensed no evil about them though mystery seemed a heavy aura about the wizard's companion. He was an ill-shaven man, and his cloak showed sign of much traveling, his face half-shadowed by a hood was not pleasant to look upon but it was not conniving like that of Wormtongue.

"I will show you to my uncle," he said simply and closed the gate to Dæcer's stall. He did not know what it was about this wizard that made him want to help, but he did for some reason, and his gut told him that alone, was good enough.

They followed behind him as he walked up the steps to the doors. The two guards on duty stopped him, "Lord Éomer, who may I ask are these two men?"

"They are friends Hama; they come with me to the king, now if you would let us pass?"

"Of course my lord if you desire it," he answered.

As they entered Éomer could hear one of the guards question Hama, "But I thought Grima told us if those…"

"Grima is not lord of Rohan…" and then the doors shut behind them.

Théoden was just sitting on his throne as they entered; they had caught him without the honey-tongued snake beside him. "My lord, this is Gandalf the Grey and his companion Strider of the northlands, they seek shelter and your ear."

"I know Gandalf but not his companion. Why have you come Gandalf is their ill news to be spoken?" Théoden asked, with a soft chuckle.

"We only ask shelter for the night my lord, but silence also. I would not have word of our arrival and departure travel."

"Shelter for only one night I will grant to you and your strange friend. The silence I will grant also if you both leave quickly upon the morn."

"You are gracious Théoden king, I thank you."

"Wizard's thanks, is what worries me, Gandalf the Grey." Théoden concluded and dismissed them all.

"I will show you the way, if you desire it, the hall is not the easiest place to maneuver in," Éomer offered.

"I have been here many a time before but you may show my friend here, I have other business to attend to," the wizard replied and turned quickly.

Éomer nodded and left the throne hearth through the back door, turning to make sure that Strider was following. The man's silence disquieted him but he said nothing assuming the wizard and his companion's business was their own. Strider walked with a confident gait of one who had traveled much and seen much. His right hand rested on his sword hilt idly, and the other swung in the rhythm of his pace. They soon reached the guest quarters and Éomer left the man to the room.

He suddenly remembered his appointment with Éowyn and groaned. He turned quickly and hurried to the garden, the best way to deal with such a problem would be to take care of it immediately, he almost regretted the necessary time it would take, he wanted to learn more of the wizard and what business brought him here.

* * *

**Note:**

Hey everyone, I am so happy more people have been reviewing my story, many thanks! I have changed a lot or should I say added a lot for chapter 6 so please reread that. I also am going to start editing the original chapters so there will be better grammar and so on though there aren't going to be any plot changes.

Also I know I will get lots of complaints about straying off canon but I promise I am not, Gandalf and Aragorn went into the wilds to search for Gollum around this time period and it stated in the appendices they searched practically everywhere so in my version that includes a stop in Rohan.

Isilhén- thanks again for sticking with this story, I hope you keep reading it. I really like the beginning chapter of your new story I hope you update soon

KAT226- thanks so much for reviewing, it is really encouraging to know more people are reading this story!

Sirabella- thanks for reading my story, I hope you keep reading it!


	8. Of Womanizers and Wizards

Chapter 8.

The sun was still shining brightly outside when he reached the back terrace. Though dark clouds had now come to rest on the peaks of the mountains. If they could make it over the range then there would be a storm tonight. He leaned against the large carved post and closed his eyes for a moment, pondering over what he should say to his sister and Dengal.

He could understand his sister being enamored with such a handsome man but his outward appearance had nothing to do with the interior. Inside he knew he was a brave man and a good soldier, but there also he harbored a weakness for pretty woman and volatile relationships.

How could she choose the one man in the whole of Edoras that he wished her to stay away from? He didn't want to be her father, he wanted to be her brother, but when she made such irresponsible choices what else was there to do?

Footsteps approached from the other side of the terrace. Dengal stopped beside him and crossed his arms, as he too glanced over the golden expanse before them and the menacing clouds upon the peaks.

"A storm is coming," he said simply though his voice wavered.

Éomer smiled inwardly and opened his eyes. He had come alone to try and show he was not the rabbit that ran and hid the night before. But his voice betrayed the truth; he was afraid and nervous, and perhaps doubtful that any girl, whatever her status may be, was worth this.

Éomer glanced over at the young man who would not meet his gaze. "Yes, if it can make it past the mountains. The clouds are treacherous, but the mountains are a mighty bulwark. They will block the storm's every attempt at reaching the fields," Éomer replied with a wry smile.

Dengal swallowed nervously at Éomer's words and was silent. The uneasy smile replaced by a disconcerted frown as he tried to understand the man's veiled threats. "Éowyn thought it best for me to come and talk to you by myself."

"To prove you are not the coward you seemed last night."

Dengal stiffened, "I am no coward, and you have seen me face our enemies in battle. I have fought by your side many times, and clasped your hand at the end of a battle. I am no coward."

"All men are cowards Dengal, when it comes to some area where they are weak. You acted the fool last night to run away. My opinion of you was lowered immensely… I would choose no other man to stand by my side in battle, but I would choose another to hold my sister's heart."

"That is not for you to decide."

"Ah… but for the moment it is. She is not old enough to know what she truly wants. And she must learn to live with my decisions for her whether she agrees with them or not. You are not the man for my sister, and I will tell you now that I will not be so merciful the next time if I see you with her again."

Dengal nodded with a venomous glare in his eyes, "Yes my lord." he said simply, quickly leaving.

Another familiar voice startled him out of his reverie. "Well you handled that very nicely Éomer, though next time I would suggest you not make your threats of violence so obvious," Théodred suggested with a wry smile.

Éomer turned and looked at him seriously, "Was I to harsh? I respect Dengal as a soldier but no man like that will hope to become my brother."

Théodred nodded silently in agreement and laid a hand on his cousin's back. "I agree, however remember this moment, the next time you find yourself enamored with some girl, I think your sister might want a say in the matter."

"I don't think we'll have to worry about that for some time."

"Your right, no lass could possibly think about marrying you," Théodred laughed dodging as his cousin swiped his hand up in reply.

"At least I am not the one who is nearly thirty-three, and still as much of an eligible bachelor as the day I was born!" Éomer laughed pushing the doors open with a creak.

They entered inside, their eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the hall, and the meager light that came only from a few windows and candles that were lit all day long. A chilly breeze swept in behind them as the doors shut and a single figure suddenly emerged from the shadow startled. Éomer stepped forward as he realized who it was.

"Stop lurking in the shadows your skin is so accustomed to Grima. Do not listen to words that are not meant for your ears," he growled at the skulking creature.

Wormtongue's face became visible and his wet lips moved slowly, "My lords you mistake me I was seeking the king and thought you both would know his whereabouts. Do not accuse such a loyal servant of the throne, I implore you."

"Loyal indeed, eavesdropper is more like it. Now be gone, you know at this hour the king is in the hall," Théodred answered continuing on his way, Éomer following close behind. Grima glared at them and went the opposite way.

They were too strong together, too strong a barricade to his plans. One of them at least had to fall before his plans could come to completion. They still had sway with the king, emotional influence, this was dangerous to him. He had to supplant them both, kill them both. Be rid of them forever. Without his son and nephew, king Théoden would fall easily, and Éowyn… Beautiful as the spring sunrise, would be easily persuaded to take his side. She was already at odds with her brother. Yes the pieces would fall together easily with them both out of the way…

* * *

"Gandalf Greyhame, yes he has been here before, only twice since I was born and scarcely more than that when my father was not yet king. He is a wizard, subtle, mysterious, grumpy, joyful, perplexing and so many other traits wrapped up into one being that I cannot list them all. I had not heard news of his coming." Théodred answered in reply to his cousin's inquiry.

"And you will hear none of his going either. He implored the king for secrecy; he and his companion are to leave nigh sunrise tomorrow without a word."

"Then he is on some errand, very important. But who is this companion you speak of?" Théodred asked his brow wrinkling.

"He is a man, perhaps a ranger from the north, he was dressed shabbily and not worth notice other than the easy way in which he carried himself, as if he had been in a hundred different halls before."

"If he is indeed a ranger, then he has," Théodred paused before the doors to the great hall, "Here I must leave, though I hope you find more of the wizard and tell me later."

Éomer nodded as the doors closed behind his friend and continued to the visitors' quarters. He arrived there minutes after and knocked at the door loudly. There was no reply for a moment and then there was a slight rustle of fabric, faint and the door swung open slowly.

In the door stood the wizard, looking at him most amused. "Ah, Éomer, so inquisitiveness has finally taken hold. Good, good, I need some information. Now I will ask the questions and mayhaps you can answer them, come in sit. My companion is sleeping in the other room."

Éomer looked at the man curiously, and followed him in, sitting on the nearest chair, "How did you…"

"Oh it was only a matter of time before you or Théodred came to the door, your cousin might have been more useful, but you will be fine. Now is no time for foolish questions. Rohan is not what it used to be, now don't speak, you know I am right. Théoden is becoming dull like a blade left too long out of service. If you wish to aid Rohan answer my questions. How long has the current advisor been in the king's service?"

The night wore on, Éomer had not wagered on such a wearying experience. Slowly the wizard's questions wore at his outer covering. At one point he was close to coming out with Grima's treachery. So close to telling of that day which had haunted his memory for so long. But he did not, the outer defenses of his memory held strong and he did not speak of it. He would not, least of all to this wizard who he did not even know. But oh how he longed to tell Éowyn or Théodred now, he wanted to tell his sister so she would once again join his side on a matter, the desire to tell his cousin was out of loyalty to the throne. Very near midnight, Éomer left the room fatigued by the memories, the questions.

His bed was warm and comforting, and he slipped into a dreamless sleep, all the while vaguely wondering how Gandalf knew his name…


	9. Excellent Wine

Chapter 9.

**_Six years later_**

Grima nodded his head quickly in total agreement Éomer's eyes narrowed, since when had Grima ever agreed with him entirely? Théoden's hair, which had grayed substantially in the past years, nodded his silent agreement.

"Go." he said his voice cracked and faded.

"My liege, I request… my lord, that you consider riding out with us once again. Such an attack desires the strong leadership that only you can command." Éomer said subtly.

Grima jumped from the dais with unusual vigor, "You mean to kill your uncle then Éomer. No one doubts the king's excellent wisdom, for none can compare in wit. However, you are asking a valuable asset of this kingdom to be wasted in the bloody drudgery of battle. Any simpleton with a sharp-edged object can kill." Grima finished with an evocative look to the young man before him.

"You would certainly know that worm," Éomer muttered turning to walk away.

He stopped and turned once more, in his warrior's heart unable to surrender so quickly to such an unworthy foe, "My lord king, remember the touch of a hilt in your hand, a bridle in your grip, the uneasy stirring of a horse beneath you. It is no simple thing to stop orcs and protect the livelihood of your people."

The king roused in his chair and reached to where his sword would have been many years ago.

"Where is my sword?" he asked quietly, his fingers aching with a longing for the touch of the cold handle, the caress of the metal.

"My lord, I took it upon myself to have your sword readied for an _important_ threat upon Edoras. It was in need of service…" he said his excuses sounding hollow, "I took it so that I might return it to you another day, give into my responsibility I plead," he finished uneasily.

The hall seemed to darken with the weight of the moment, the hearth fire's flame burned low for a moment as if all was waiting for the king's decision. It was not about the sword, but about the wakening that had been seen in his eyes a moment before. "Yes Grima…" he said quietly.

Things returned to their unaffected state and Grima patted his lord's arm softly. Éomer did not wait to see the look of triumph that most surely adorned his face. The moment had passed, and the snake had poisoned the king's judgment once again.

He headed to the stables where the men were waiting. All the other éored's had been sent away. It seemed that Théodred was scarcely at Edoras any longer and now he wondered if that was not also the advisor's doing. An argument from the king's own son would not fall upon deaf ears. His thoughts were interrupted by Éowyn's voice.

"So he has disagreed? I thought as much…" she said softly drifting into thought.

"Yes, he has refused again, though he has allowed us to ride forth, which is unusual. With all the refusals of late it has come as a surprise… I often am torn, would disobeying an order from Grima's mouth constitute a betrayal of the throne? Fath… Uncle has agreed with him in everything, but one often wonders if he is now merely a puppet," he said quietly not wishing the treasonous words to carry farther than the conversation. "Éowyn, stay with him, watch over him while I am gone, I give the king into your hands for a while."

"Yes of course," she answered, with strained voice and pain in her eyes he did not notice. She was unusually quiet, though the years in the darkening kingdom had sobered her from her former years; she still voiced her opinions with unmatched fervor. They ventured into the daylight for a moment and then into the dark mustiness of the stables.

Éowyn passed Théodred's horse's empty stable and was pained, the men could ride away and fight away their anger. She, however, had to stay with a failing king and watch his advisor rule the kingdom in his stead. Where was she to fight off the demons of hate and despair that tortured her soul? By tending an elderly uncle who no longer called her daughter and ignore the subtle hints of Grima's lust? She was trapped, and watched her brother ride away with the feeling of an injured horse that must stay in the darkness of the stable, and watch the others gallop over the golden fields, feeling afraid for perhaps it would remain in its cage forever and its wound would never heal.

* * *

Éomer struggled to think only on the mission before him. The Dunlendings had been raiding village after village in the Eastfold, farmers and horse-herders who lived there were unaccustomed to fighting and though they had fought valiantly, it was to no avail. There were scarcely twenty-five riders with Éomer and by all accounts at least fifty wild men. He had been in many a battle where they had defeated more orcs with less Rohirrim but he had never led such an endeavor. He feared his guidance might fall short of what was needed.

Still there were many experienced men with him that would be worth at least three wild men before they fell. He was shocked at how easily he fell into thinking that way. Horrified at how he was thinking of the men as numbers not faces. It was easier that way, seeing a number die was easier than seeing a comrade or friend die. He could not plan the attack based on the men behind the digits; that would lead to ruin. This disengaged outlook would serve him better, if only he could stop looking into their eyes and stop knowing that the attitude of numbers was false.

The riding continued for some hours until they were forced to stop for a meal. After that they continued, and were fast approaching their destination by nightfall. Another small village of horse-herders, still safely away from the ransacked settlements was not far off and it was decided to stop there for the night and see if they might obtain shelter for the night.

Their horses were tired as well and a few small lights lit the darkness as men from the village hurried out to take the horses to stables scattered about the settlement. They agreed readily to provide accommodations.

A large, burly man with grey hair and chipped front tooth smiled broadly at Éomer, "We knew you could not be Dunlendings when we heard the racket you were making. Though you gave our hearts quite a start." he added with a loud laugh.

The man was named Hyrde and seemed like a leader among the independent group of horse-masters. He lead Éomer and two other soldiers to his house where he would give them food and rest. Éomer sighed contently that night, his stomach full with a hearty meal provided by Hyrde's wife Dagræd who was a fair match for him in size. He lay his head down that night glad for the delay, and worried about what would happen upon the morrow. His stomach was tied in knots that had not been there for many years and he found himself silently praying that the Dunlendings would go back to their own lands without a fight.

* * *

Éowyn hurried down the familiar halls of Meduseld late that night. She was determined to keep her promise to Éomer and was planning to check on her uncle before she retired. She slowed as she reached the hall where his quarters were located and came to a silent stop as she saw another sneaking figure's shadow walking towards her destination.

The shadow's hand dove into its clothes and came out again carrying some strange object, he held up a wine goblet and tiny grains rushed forth from the object into the cup. The hand rotated quietly, mixing the contents and then stuffed the container back into the dark shadow of his garment. Only one person in Rohan's shadow could be so bent, so crouched. It was Grima, and to what mischief he had involved himself in this time she could not say.

She remained still as he opened the door to the king's inner study, the light flooding out in the hallway for a moment and then disappearing with a slam of wood. Éowyn stood for a moment quietly, trying to take in what had happened, such evil, poisoning the king's own goblet could not be thought of. She knew what she must do.

With decisive movements she knocked on the door twice and entered. Grima's hunched form shot up suddenly away from a wine goblet that he had placed on the king's table. Théoden had not yet entered the room. Éowyn cursed silently at her own foolishness, she could have waited and come in after Grima had left again.

"My lady, what brings you to the king's study in such a state?" he asked quickly perusing her damp brow and vexed look.

"Grima, I was simply coming to talk to my uncle on some private matters. Is he in his own chambers already?" she said quickly.

"Yes," he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing, his mind trying to perceive whether she was telling the truth, "He will be out in a moment I am sure."

"Thank you, it is kind of you to bring him his drink, but I will make sure he receives it, I must talk to him alone," she said with proud voice that only a descendent of Morwen herself could have managed.

Grima felt cowed in her presence in that moment when she stood straight and tall like a fine blade and her voice commanded him like a lowly servant, her voice reminded him of someone else's… of his master's voice. Whether it was this similarity with the one to whom his allegiance laid or something else no one could determine. Éowyn saw his form shrink, and wondered at how she had ever admired such a man in her youth. He bowed sheepishly, and left.

Éowyn swiftly took a step towards the table and poured the wine out onto the blazing hearth. Her uncle came in and sat down as she filled it again with new wine which was easily found in a drawer of his desk. He took it from her silently and drank for a moment. His eyes seemed clearer for a moment as he spoke.

"Excellent wine."

* * *

**Note:**

Hello all! Too many people to thank at once! Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers to without whom this story would never progress. Sorry about the slow updates, but I have been in the middle of a mass editing process on all my chapters so things have been a little hectic. Hope you all enjoyed this one!


	10. Fighting against Fire

Chapter 10.

Éomer woke suddenly, startled by the sound of a child's scream. For a moment he lay on the makeshift bed and thought it only a dream but then he smelled the burning hay. He tumbled out of the bed nearly tripping over Dengal and Sceotan who were sleeping on the floor. He shook them awake and quickly flung open the door to the main part of the cottage. Hyrde burst in the door that led outside and rushed to Éomer.

"Dunlendings…" he said, out of breath falling into the young captain's arms.

Éomer struggled to lay the heavy man on his cot and was horrified to feel the man's slick blood staining his own bare chest. Sceotan, who had some skill with healing, felt the unconscious man's arm carefully.

"The wound is not fatal, but he has lost much blood…" he was interrupted by Hyrde's wife's sudden entrance. She carried a lit candle and cast a grim look upon her husband.

"Go, I will care for my husband. You are needed, help the village." she said pushing Sceotan with a strong arm and gesturing for them to leave quickly.

Éomer's stomach was tied in knots, "Sceotan, go see what men may be gathered after you are armed. Dengal stay with me." he said feeling uneasy as he took command. The young man nodded and put on his armor quickly, grabbed his spear and hurried out the door, through which sounds of battle could be heard.

Éomer quickly pulled his shirt over his head and struggled with nervous fingers at the lacings of his armor. Dengal's hands steadied his own and helped him strap on the breastplate. The inexperienced commander nodded his thanks and smiled slightly. Dengal tossed Éomer his sword and they hurried into the night.

The heat struck them in the face, smoke blinding their eyes and senses. The wind changed directions suddenly and they both quickly readied their horses and mounted. There were no other Rohirrim in sight and the smoke blocked Éomer's vision from looking farther ahead for them.

"Eorlings! All Eorlings to me, to me!" Éomer shouted hoping that his soldiers would hear his cry and join him.

Dengal glanced at him, hopelessness filling his face. The young soldier peered into the smoke around him, his own horse moving uneasily beneath him. An idea came suddenly and he grabbed for the battle horn at his side. Quickly he brought it to his lips and blew with all his might. Éomer looked at him startled and then invigorated by the man's initiative. Swiftly five men joined them, and then another three until they had seventeen men with them, including Sceotan and five men of the village armed with rusted blades and old spears.

Éomer quickly shouted out orders, "You seven go to the east of the village where the huts are burning, make sure that all the people are out of the inferno. The rest of you follow me, archers aim for the torch-bearers, we must stop the fires from spreading!" he yelled urging his horse forward waving his sword, caught up once again in the immeasurable harsh emotions of battle.

The smoke was still blowing into their enemies eyes when they attacked; he was striking down blind foes, hoping that the wind would not change a third time. The archers shot at the glimmers of torches, unable to clearly distinguish the torch-bearers from the rest of the opponents.

"Spread around them! Surround them! Archers spread on all sides of them!" Éomer yelled suddenly inspired by their enemies' confusion. Dengal looked at him perplexed; there were nearly fifty Dunlendings and only seventeen men to fight them all, was he going mad with the intense heat of the fire? No he looked serious enough and even grinned at Dengal with a wide smile and quickly told him of the plan, knowing that the wild men could not discern the tongue of the Eorlings.

"With smoke in their eyes how do they know there are only a handful of us? We are a mighty army if we can make them believe it." He answered with a grin, striking down another wild man who had struggled to break through the line to the other huts.

"Archers, shoot!" he cried and four arrows well aimed knocked down four men in different parts of the mass. Their comrades cried in terror and hearing more shouts of terror believed they were indeed surrounded. The slaughter of the edges of the group of wild men started. The Eorlings hastened, afraid to trust their luck, and more importantly the wind.

Éomer cut through the wall, hewing down men in front of him with decisive strokes and suddenly he was flying through the air, over his fallen horse's head, warm blood drenching his legs. The Dunlendings had begun to use their sharp weapons against the Rohirrim and their one known strength, their horses. Kneeling with their spears held upwards they had caught Dæcer square in his mighty chest. He lay on the grass, his blood pouring out onto charred grass. Éomer felt a strong hand on his arm and was pulled up quickly.

Dengal whispered in his ear fearfully, "My lord? What now?" he asked.

Éomer glanced up and tried to blink, tried to rid his eyes of the burning sensation that overcame them. Smoke filled his nostrils and made the whole world an indiscernible whirlwind. He coughed, his head sagged and his shoulders drooped. Dengal's battle horn could not regroup them now; it would only point out their location to the enemy. They were scattered, divided, and leaderless. His eyes burned and the taste of charred substance was upon his lips.

The wind had changed.

Éomer knelt by Dæcer's side for a moment, "Peace, dear friend." he said laying a hand on the creature's proud neck. He rose halfheartedly and unsheathed his sword. A strong hand on his shoulder startled him, but he turned to face one of the village men armed with a dull blade.

"My lord, what are we to do? There are only a handful of us left, nine at last count and we are all wandering, lost in this smoke." the man stated looking to him hopefully, Éomer saw in the man's eyes a trust in Éomer's leadership and was comforted.

He paused for a moment, glancing into the smoke ahead of them seeing vague flickers of light that showed how great the number of the Dunlendings still was. "Good sir, where have the women and children been sent?" he asked an idea growing in his mind.

"Why, to the end of the town, they are all huddled together waiting for the outcome, there are not enough horses in the village for all to flee."

"Good, we will go to them," Éomer replied quickly striding towards the far cottages where the villagers sat huddled, and frightened. Dengal cast a strange look at his captain, in his mind he wondered if this man could be running for safety. He had thought Éomer a busybody when he interfered in his own relationship with Éowyn but a coward; Never!

Éomer turned to him abruptly, "Dengal I shall need your help, and your help also good sir. Both of you search the nearby stables and cowherds for anything that will break or make a fair amount of noise: pots, dishes, spoons… Whatever you can find and bring it here." he commanded quickly and stopped in front of the cowering villagers.

"Proud people aid us, do not let the wild men burn your homes or steal your horses. Do not let your sons die upon the grass where they were born any longer. The Dunlendings will soon realize that we are not as many as we first made them believe, but perhaps we can trick them again! Will you aid us? Come stand in line those who are willing…"

Dengal rummaged through the dark house, which he recognized as the one they had slept in. He gathered all the crockery he could find and hurried out of the house laying it in a pile near Éomer's feet, there were many woman and children waiting to receive the items. He did not understand why his captain was doing this, but he obeyed nonetheless.

Éomer's mind raced as he handed pots and spoons, dishes and washing basins, to the women and children of the village. He told each in turn where to go, dividing them into three groups which Dengal, the village man (of whom he realized had still not given his name) and he could oversee. He whispered in the man's ear and the man nodded, leading his band of ragtag soldiers carrying all numbers of things as silently as possible to their position.

Before long he found himself joined by a few more riders to whom he told his plan and gave into their charge more villagers, soon they had surrounded the main group of Dunlendings. Éomer raised his hand, already shaking with anxiety, and then dropped it yelling with all his might and banging his sword upon his breastplate.

His voice was indiscernible among the loud noises that ensued. Crockery broke upon the ground, spoons beat upon pots and Dengal's battle horn could be heard sounding with deafening fervor. They yelled and shouted and screamed, the children shriek and high, the men low and fervent, the women's tones mixed, but oft resembling the sound of wild cats when their litters are threatened.

He was able to strike down the few that had tried to break the circle near him, but within the trap screams of terror were heard and many of the wild men were falling upon their own swords and killing each other in the confusion. The enemy had been utterly vanquished. The few that had escaped had done so with mortal wounds.

Dawn had almost arrived; it seemed delayed, waiting until they had finished the confrontation to come. Golden rays stretching over the horizon meekly, as if to make sure that the battle was over.

Éomer sat quietly, examining himself with a smile. He had wondered what made the villagers cringe in fear as he had spoken to them. He was quite a grisly site, stained with blood, especially Dæcer's, and his exposed skin covered in the soot from the fires which were now dwindling under the watchful gaze of the villagers.

Dengal took a seat near him, removing his helmet with a sigh. "This will indeed be a story to tell to the court. Though perhaps I should tell it, the cleverness of your plan will surely be blown out of proportion if you are the storyteller," he said with a quiet laugh, wincing, the action irritating his bruised rib cage.

Éomer nodded as he finished wrapping his cut arm, a result of his tumble off his horse. So many had died, and yet there would be more if his plan had not worked. Among the dead was the brave villager man who had turned out to be Hyrde's own son and Sceotan, who had been only a year older than Éomer, and had left behind a wife, heavy with child.

He looked up and stood quickly as a group of the villagers approached, Hyrde leading them his arm bandaged. "My lord, on behalf of the people of this village, we wish to thank you. Your courage saved our village."

Éomer shook his head quickly, "I would have to disagree sir, and it was all of you who saved your own village. I only led you, the thanks indeed you owe to your own lungs," he answered with a slight laugh.

"That may be so, but you and your men sacrificed much to save us. And I wish to give you this horse, as payment for your help in our time of need. It is the finest among my herd and will serve you well. His name is Brynefot for he is swift of foot." Hyrde explained holding forth the reins of a horse.

Brynefot was fifteen hands, and an unusual dark, dappled grey over most of his body except for his head where the spots became mere specks and the white of his coat shone forth. His mane was silvery grey and his eyes keen, and true. Éomer could indeed believe that he was the finest among the village's horses.

He pondered for a moment, unwilling to except so great a gift, but sure that refusal would seem an insult to the herder's dignity, he stepped forward and bowed to Hyrde, "I will accept your gift with thanks Hyrde. For it will remind me of the great valor of this small horse-fold which can boast of the courage of its people among the finest cities of the land."

Éomer answered with great reverence and took the reins of the horse softly rubbing his nose. The horse nudged his shoulder lightly, as if in response.

Éomer nodded again to the villagers while mounted on Brynefot when they took their leave the next morning, after helping to sort through the damage that had been done. Families whose houses had been destroyed were welcomed in other homes and soon all would be set to right once more. They would come to Edoras near nightfall, and Éomer now felt his heart turned toward the great hall, with the hope that no great treachery had occurred while he was gone and the snake had been out from under his gaze.

* * *

**Note:**

Hey all, thanks for all your reviews! I know the age jump last time confused a couple of you, but I'm in the midst of an editing process so hopefully that transition will be more understandable after I do that, thank you all for reading! I'll try to respond next time to any questions.

Only one more thing "Brynefot" means Fire foot in old English the language Tolkien used for the Rohirrim, if you look in Two Towers it's the name of his horse, so I decided to put him in here, though Dæcer didn't die just for that reason, it was a hard decision I'd grown quite fond of the little guy, in old English æcer means fields so I just added a d and it looked cool. If you want to know the meaning of any other names just ask! If you didn't know eoh means horse and mer means renown so Éomer basically means one renowned in horses. (info on his name from the TT extended version special features)

If anyone is a real Old English expert, I'm sorry if I've totally ruined the language I have been using an online dictionary, if there are any suggestions feel free to suggest!


	11. New Appointment

Chapter 11.

Éowyn walked slowly down the hall, the candlelight reflected off of her dark green dress. Her hand played with the pendent around her neck, the one so many years ago she had taken from her mother's jewelry box. She was glad that Éomer had finally arrived back in the city, and hoped that they would be able to talk of the week's strange events. She slowed at a cracked door from which came the sound of a familiar voice.

"My lord, Éomer has arrived in the city," Grima said sitting beside his liege and helping himself to the jar of wine that sat on the table. He drank in a slow manner and leaned forward his tongue flickering behind yellow teeth.

"They say that his victory is that worthy of the throne. They say… that Théodred would not have done as well if put in the same situation… that no one in this household is more worthy of the throne than he," he hissed, sitting back again to watch the effect of his words.

"That is foolishness. The people know Théodred has more experience, that he is more skilled, more educated… They would not be so foolish as to presume that Éomer would receive the throne. That an ill-bred, war-mongerer like him could rule the land…" Grima smiled as the king spoke, his web was masterfully woven, the spider moved in for a kill.

"There are rumors, oh my king that Éomer himself has started to believe these things. That he thinks himself worthy of the crown. Such sedition is very dangerous my lord."

"He could not believe such a lie…"

"One who has had so much fortune in battle, may, at times come to believe it is of his own doing. That he is the one to whom the victories are attributed, not luck. If he is not shown more of battle, then we can never hope to break him of his pride."

Théoden sat silently. Grima continued in a quieter voice, "His father before him was proud, but he was kept in check by his post as a marshal… perhaps…" the trap was set.

"Éomer could take on his father's former post as the third marshal, yes, that would show him more of war, and perhaps a few defeats would rid him of his pride. I have tried to raise these children as best I can you know. I do not wish Éomer to grow up to be a usurper to the throne."

"Of course you have my liege… of course you have…" the advisor said rising and setting down his glass. A rustle outside the cracked door startled him, "If you will excuse me my lord?"

He quickly opened the door and glanced down the hall to see a calm Éowyn walking away at a brisk pace. He caught up to her in a quick stride and took her arm. "My lady…" he said lowering his chin.

Éowyn did not look at him. "Grima…" the perspiration on her forehead confirmed his suspicions. "I saw you walking and thought I might escort you to your destination. These halls are some of the king's most private and I would hate for you to stumble upon some traitor with his ear to the door…"

"That would be a calamity indeed," she replied steadily but her shifty eyes told another story, "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I was going to see my brother, newly arrived and I must hurry to the stables, so I may not miss him."

"Indeed, then it will be no trouble for you to bring a message to him from me as well?"

"No, not at all."

"Tell him that he is summoned to the hall immediately." he said releasing her arm, "And Éowyn, be careful, will you not? I would hate for something to happen to you." he said his eyes searching her own, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Éowyn turned without answering and hurried to the stables, looking over her shoulder as she went. Softly, walking, feet followed her through the lonely corridors all the way to the entrance of the hall, and she shivered.

Éomer was unsaddling Brynefot when he saw Éowyn enter, pale and obviously agitated. "Éowyn?" he asked as she joined him softly rubbing Brynefot's noise as he snickered in response. He watched her closely wondering what would have caused her discomfort.

"Are you well sister? You seem ill."

"Yes, I am fine… Grima wanted me to tell you that you are summoned to the hall, immediately."

"Then I will go, in a moment. Are you sure you are well? Do you need to rest for a little while?"

"No, I will speak of it to you later. You must go to the hall, it is important; I will find the fellow a new stall."

"He can be put in Dæcer's stall," Éomer responded pensively.

"Then Dæcer is…"

"He has passed. We buried him with many men in a mound west of the holding where the battle was fought."

"Battle?"

"Press me to go, and then ask me questions?" Éomer laughed, "We will talk of it later, I must see what urgent business the king summons me for," he finished, squeezing her arm and handing her the horse's reins.

* * *

He waited in the hall, dim and hot, fidgeting in his heavy armor as he waited for the king. Soldiers that he did not recognize watched him carefully. By their seedy looks, he concluded they had been hired by Grima. He rested his hand on his sword as the king entered followed closely by Grima who sat beside him on the dais. They stared at him and the silence endured until, finally Grima spoke.

"We have heard much of your exploits, fortunate nephew of the king," the advisor said in mock solemnity.

"We have spoken on the matter, and decided that the feat was reckless, dangerous, and risky. However, you were successful and you come back to us the victor. Therefore it is the decision of this crown to give you the former title of your father. Third Marshal of the Riddermark, you will become and will be given the responsibility of the protection of the lands." Théoden said, his voice harsh.

"You will take an oath, taken by your father before you. It is an honor to be chosen thus, and perhaps you will become more learned in the art of war," Grima said the last remark with a caustic manner, biting acidity in every word.

"You honor me, my king." Éomer replied, in truth not feeling honored at all. There was nothing else to say, the position was such an honor that to many it would seem disrespect to refuse or even question it. He would have to spend much more time, perhaps weeks away from the city, away from Éowyn, and away from Grima.

Grima, he had planned it all perfectly. He had engineered everything, and now he was rid of a nuisance. How could one man's words work so much evil in a kingdom? How could he manage to ruin Éomer's plans and dreams once again? How could he afford to be away from the king so long when Théodred would be away also?

The spider had constructed the web meticulously, caught in his web; the throne was helpless, now he would suck the very blood of the kingdom out. From the dais Grima smiled smugly.

* * *

"Then what was it? If not poison why else would he serve it to the king? He has murdered before," Éomer said irritably, glaring at his sister, and nervously checking outside the door for any listeners.

"I do not know. I only know this, why would Grima kill the king if he has him so completely under his control? Why kill the only hold on the throne he has. If uncle died then Théodred would become king, and either banish Grima or… kill him," Éowyn argued keeping her voice down, still imagining to hear the pattering of sly feet on stone as they followed her.

Éomer stood silently for a moment listening at the door. They had crept in the darkness to this abandoned guest room in the farthest reaches of the hall to avoid any listeners that might be in the advisor's service. Cobwebs stood in all the corners of the room and it looked as if even the spiders had finally abandoned it.

"What bothers me more is that he is gaining more control. He could be very well giving our uncle some concoction that is not poisonous but aids in his control of him. In the past years he has grown sickly and weak as no other forebear of ours ever would at this age. What could it be if not some poison, that kills him slowly… and makes him more susceptible to our dear advisor's voice?" Éowyn whispered clutching her skirts tightly.

"Indeed. That would explain his fall into darkness of mind, and of late, soul… But what can we do Éowyn? Théodred is gone from the city ten months out of twelve, returning for rest and then going back to fight the evils that assail us on all sides. I have been appointed the third marshal of the Riddermark; but it is a curse, not a blessing. Indeed it is a curse engineered by Grima, with both of us gone who is to stand in his way?" Éomer said rubbing his head with a sigh.

Éowyn stiffened visibly at his words, and Éomer turned to her, "I do not mean to say that you are incapable my sister, only that one person alone is not enough to stand in the way of that snake."

"Then our kingdom falls into ruin… We shall fail and the proud land of the Mark will fail. If we must die --- I do not wish to die alone in the dark, but rather on a field of honor surrounded by my kin… what unhappy fate caused me to be a woman in these times I often wonder," Éowyn answered her cold voice sending a shiver up Éomer's back. He walked to her and sat by her side.

He took hold of her chin gently and made her look at him, "Éowyn, know this, that in these times a woman of strong heart is of as much value as a man of a strong arm. Perhaps we shall fail in the end, but perhaps we shall not. Perhaps we will rise above and beyond the valor of those who came before us and save the kingdom of this present darkness. I do not wish to leave you, but I cannot change the king's mind."

"You could have refused!" she yelled and then looked worriedly at the door and in a softer voice continued, "They did not make you accept the post!"

Éomer stood up angrily, "And what would you have me do? You have told me of their conversation, what else can I do but accept? If I did, you know better than I what treason they could accuse me of! I must leave before the flames become any hotter and I am devoured!"

"Then you are doing exactly what Grima wanted you to do! It will all turn out as he planned… Who is to say if he planned it out this far that he has not planned out your death as well?"

"No one, he may have, but perhaps I can avoid it until it is time to cut off his own head," Éomer said with an almost gleeful chuckle.

"Perhaps…" Éowyn answered, but she did not smile.

* * *

**Note: **

Hey all, I know I've been away forever, but I'm probably going to finish the first part of this story this week if possible, so be watching for more updates.

Basically this will go until Éomer's imprisonment, it will be about 15-17 chapters long

The second part will be mainly the war of the ring and his part in it, until the end of the war, or his marriage

The third part will go forseeably until his death though the kinks aren't worked out yet.

So there you go, and if you're waiting for more chapters on my other stories, I am going to try to update those too, but I am really focused on finishing this story. And if anybody noticed I changed the spacing on this chapter so that the paragraphs are not as spaced out, thanks to all my readers! Please if you haven't already press the review button down there and tell me what you thought!


	12. A New Life

Chapter 12.

The sun was rising slowly, setting all the fields ablaze as Éomer led Brynefot out of his stall the next morning. Dengal, a man named Anborn and ten others were still in the stables preparing their own horses for the ride to the city of Aldburg in the Folde where Eorl himself had held his seat as king. Now it would be the base of operations for Éomer as Third Marshal of the Riddermark.

The system of marshals had quickly fallen into disrepair after Théoden had resigned his post as first marshal of the mark after becoming king. Théodred was formally called Second Marshal of the Mark; however he was vainly trying to defend all the lands himself. This was the reason he was no longer at Edoras and Helms Deep as his base of operations had seemed to become his second home.

He mounted Brynefot as Dengal led his horse out of the stable. Since the incident with the village the boy that had once been a rabbit had seemed to become a man. Dengal acted with a new respect for Éomer and had even volunteered to serve under him while he served under his new post as marshal. Éomer now felt him a trustworthy companion and was glad to have his help on this new venture.

When the sky had wholly risen above the plains Éomer and his newly formed éored rode southeast on the Great Road towards the Folde and Aldburg known as the bosom of the world in the Eorlings tongue. It would take half the day to reach the fort.

Éowyn watched from the terrace as her brother left and a single tear fell down her cheek. She vowed silently it would be her last and the tear turned to ice in the cold. She turned silently to the Hall and the opening doors seemed a large, gaping, hole waiting to swallow her whole.

* * *

The Folde was dotted with farmsteads and horse herder settlements across its length. Many Eorlings looked up from their work as the passing men and near noon a woman invited them to eat what provisions she could provide. The men accepted the offer gratefully and the bread, cheese and wine she gave them seemed a feast after riding through half the day.

They continued on until after the stars began to appear in the sky and the faint light of the sun lit the edge of the world up in purples and deep reds.

When they arrived it seemed a comfort to see the city enclosed by tall walls and watchtowers very much the same as Edoras. On the watchtowers stood only a few and they did not yell out in question at the riders but let the gates open to them without challenge. The great city had degenerated greatly since its former days told of in many minstrels' songs.

As they entered they saw the city and the halls. Three thatched buildings stood in the middle arranged in the shape of a square with a statue of a mounted man at the side closest to them. The buildings were not large but it was easy to tell they had once been the homes of great men. They soon found out that opposite the statue stood the main hall and the buildings on the left and right were the stables and what was called The Quarters. This was where all the people of the halls slept as the main building held only a dining and meeting hall where the original seat of Eorl had once been.

There was no light to examine the buildings more closely and a man bearing a lamp approached them. He bore a familiar face. Éomer peered closer, in the faint lamplight he could see the man had a short beard, graying around the edges. His hair was red-gold with gray as well, but there was something in his face that made Éomer search his memory. The man laughed when he saw Éomer's perplexed face.

"Do you not know me? But of course I have not seen you since your mother's funeral and I was considerably younger then." he said his voice the essence of laughter: welcoming and loud.

"I am sorry my lord," he had noted the man's rich apparel, "I know your face but I cannot place it."

"I am your uncle, the husband of Elfreordyn, who is the sister of king Théoden."

"Then you are Lord Ceneleod? I am sorry, but I had not recognized you!" Éomer exclaimed as his uncle started to lead them to their quarters and the stable hands took the horses.

"Then you have lived here at Aldburg since…"

"Since I was a boy. Your aunt married me and we continued to live here, that was thirty years ago. She and I are the resident nobles of Aldburg as you might say. We live here with our three daughters. Tomorrow you shall meet all of them, but now I am sure you all are tired and need to rest. Come this way."

* * *

The next morning the soldiers woke satisfied from a night on comfortable beds. Éomer was summoned to meet Ceneleod before breakfast and he brought Dengal with him. He was nervous of meeting all these newfound relatives alone. They were able to see the Square (as the inhabitants called it) much more clearly in the sunlight. The statue was of Eorl charging on his horse, his sword raised to the sky.

The main building that they were led to had two great doors crowned by connecting beams and two carvings of horse heads facing both left and right. As they entered Éomer could see the glint of gold that was inlaid in the inner pillars. They met Lord Ceneleod in a small room that connected the dining and meeting halls. It was furnished richly, though not in such extent as Edoras was. The Lord himself was dressed simply in a green tunic like Éomer's own and wore his hair back in a half ponytail.

A woman stood beside him wearing a plain red gown, "This is my wife Elfreordyn, your aunt." the lady smiled with an expression that seemed purely maternal. She reminded Éomer painfully of his mother. She was much older than she would be however if she were still alive. A small girl came, flying into the room her red hair flying around her shoulders.

She walked straight to Éomer and held out her hand, "Hello, you must be our cousin. I am Leofwyn."

"This is our youngest, she is but eight years but she is not shy of strangers, she takes after her father," Elfreordyn said softly her voice lilting and melodic. Two other maidens entered shortly, one around the age of fifteen and the other (presumably the eldest) seemed around twenty-five. The younger took after her mother and had honey-gold hair while the eldest possessed the same golden-red mane as her father.

"Girls, this is your cousin Éomer, recently assigned the position as third Marshal of the Mark and his friend Dengal. These are my daughters Éowine and Hild the eldest," Ceneleod nodded to each in turn and Éomer bowed his head. Dengal stood still and the eldest daughter looked at him strangely until he came to his senses.

"It is an honor to meet you," he said still staring at Hild, "all," he added as Éomer jabbed his shoulder with his elbow.

Ceneleod glanced from one to the other and then at his eldest daughter, "I hope you will join us for breakfast sister-son, Dengal?"

They assented and followed the family to the great dining hall, where many of the men were already eating. Leofwyn took his hand eagerly and led him to sit by her. She continued to chatter on for the rest of the hour much to the amusement of Éomer. He saw Dengal across the table trying to start a conversation with Hild and Éomer almost laughed aloud.

It was good to be here, in this new place with new acquaintances that seemed so familiar. He felt comfortable, a part of this family and happy that the shadows of evil did not seem to reach to this city. He sat back contentedly and listened to Leofwyn ramble on about her horse.

* * *

**Note: **Hey everybody, yes I'm finally updating again! Yes and I will finally respond to you wonderful reviewers, big sloppy kisses from Brynefot for all of you. Oh a quick note on some meanings of names! All old English of course, and I made them all up except for Hild.

Ceneleod- cunning man

Elfreordyn- one with the voice of an elf

Éowine- friend of horses

Hild- battle (old feminine name from Helm Hammerhand's sister)

Dengal- from the root for bell (completely random, I didn't think he would be this much of a developed character but I guess some people just have weird names)

Ok and now for responses to reviews!

dd9736- Thanks for the review on chap. 9 I hope you're still reading the story! I know the age jump this time was a bit confusing but I'm in the midst of editing it so the change isn't so dramatic…

Eokat- Thanks for faithfully reading and reviewing! I'm glad Grima seems creepy sometimes I think my descriptions of him must sound cheesy, thanks!

Southern son- Thanks for the review! Ya Théoden might have turned into a frog, you know Grima is pretty evil.

Angel of the Night Watchers- Thanks for the review! I like your pen name, it's cool. I was wondering if anyone would notice the "cowed" part and hoping nobody would think Éowyn was mooing at him :)

Prince Tyler Briefs- Thanks for the review! I don't know how to do Elfwine yet, though it is a little ways down the line. I like the backstory on your pen name. Thanks for the feedback on the Éowyn bit, I was worried it may sound a little strange.

Beling- Thanks for the review! I hope you like the next chapters as well!

Domlando Blonaghan- Love the name. Thanks for the praise! Make sure to give me examples of the "cleaning up" did you mean grammar? I need as much help as I can get :)

diamondrose57- Thanks for the review!

isilhen- Thanks! I'll be sure to remember the sugarless candies when I visit. I appreciate your support so much! I hope you can read the rest, I know how hard the computer screen can be on older eyes.

Mystikal- Thanks so much for the review! I always imagined it that way as well but when the time came to write it, the idea just popped into my head. I don't know how I am going to write his death scene either…

charliegirl2- Thanks for the review, I'm glad the story didn't disappoint. I hope you post your story about the girl in Rohan soon that you mentioned on your bio page. Thanks for the advice on semicolon's I am so terrible with those. Basically Éomund was a marshal of the mark and as such lived in the Eastfold slightly north of where Éomer is in this chapter. He and his family lived there and then Éomer and Éowyn were taken to Edoras when their mother died of grief. Stuff you have to search out in the appendices. Thanks again!


	13. New Evidence

Chapter 13.

Éowyn sat across from the king and his advisor at the table. Théoden feebly ate the gruel Grima had restricted him to for "apparent health reasons." The lumpy, white porridge dripped down his beard which seemed to be quickly graying.

Éowyn grimaced as Grima smiled at her across the table. He reached over and wiped the king's beard with a napkin. Since Éomer had left for the Folde and taken up his duties, the Hall had deadened severely. The very air seemed to press in on her at all sides, suffocating her with the familiarity.

She could almost laugh, if but a bit cynically at this scene. The crassness of the great King's unkempt robes and porridge covered face created a picture of what Éowyn was slowly beginning to associate the kingdom of Rohan with; pure and utter ignorance. The noble horse-lords? Pah! This was no more than a broken-down remainder of what once was.

Grima interrupted her thoughts with his own words, "What a noble scene, do you not agree? How would it be if the venerable Steward of Gondor was to see his appointed king of Rohan now? The king sitting, being cared for by his advisor and niece? Surely he would think him a dotard, and the house of Eorl no more than a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs," he finished with arms outspread towards the extent of Meduseld.

Éowyn almost nodded her assent as Grima watched her keenly. Her eyes narrowed suddenly and she remembered Éomer and Théodred who were much more than brigands. Then she remembered the poisoned wine and rose slowly.

"Thank you Grima for the breakfast. If you will excuse me I must attend to the stables and look after the new foal," Éowyn said in an almost shuddering voice, as she walked away quickly with the distinct feeling of his eyes boring into her back.

* * *

Éomer had been putting on his armor when he was joined by Dengal. Tardiness had become a growing habit for Dengal since they had become settled in the city.

"How many did the scout estimate there were?" Dengal asked hurriedly strapping on his breastplate.

"Thirty to forty as an estimate, though he could not be sure. They were traveling in full daylight without any covering and had some kind of white mark on their helmets. The scout was to far away to tell what it might have been."

Dengal nodded as Éomer finished, the marshal turned to watch Dengal with his own armor, "You were with Hild then?"

Dengal looked up surprised, his hands frozen on his sword belt, "Yes…" he paused and then continued his voice sincere, "I love her Éomer. I have never felt this way about anyone… I am going to ask her to marry me."

Éomer smiled, "I knew that any woman who made you act as meek as you have this past month must be your perfect match. But you might want to consider asking her father's permission first as a precaution. We both know how well you get along with women's relatives," he concluded with a hearty laugh, smacking him on the back.

"Ask me about what?" a mirthful voice caused Dengal to start. Ceneleod entered with a smile sliding his shield onto his back and examining the tip of his sharp spear. Dengal's face quickly took a cadaverous pallor.

"Of something better discussed without my company uncle. If you will excuse me, I will meet you both in the stables," Éomer quickly answered and exited as Dengal swallowed nervously.

In the stables the early morning sunlight made the hay a pale gold. Brynefot pawed at the ground expectantly in his stall as Hild tried to feed him an apple. She turned as Éomer approached and smiled.

"Hello cousin. Your horse does not seem to like apples from my hand as much as she does from the hand of Leofwyn. How have you managed to escape her today?"

"From much effort on my part I assure you. She is at the moment trapped by your mother into learning embroidery, though I do not think she will be kept in that prison for long."

"Where is Dengal?"

"With your father and of that matter I will say no more for fear of a harsh punishment," he said in response to her imploring glance.

"Then I will not ask of it," she stated simply a small smile on her face, "I will simply have to interrogate another."

Éomer laughed, Dengal and his attraction to wild women. The thought painfully reminded him of Éowyn but he tried to push it away. He tried to ignore the pain it caused him to realize he had been away nearly a month and half. He tried to ignore the fact that he was not sorry to be away from that place. His thoughts were interrupted as Dengal and Ceneleod entered both faces bore a smile.

"Go tell your mother to prepare an evening meal tonight worthy of the victorious when we return," Ceneleod said to his daughter as he mounted his horse.

Hild nodded and then opened her mouth to speak, but Dengal interrupted her, "I will assemble the men," he said simply galloping into the courtyard.

"Daughter did you not hear me, go inform your mother of my wishes immediately and give her my farewell," Ceneleod said angrily though his eyes glittered with amusement.

The two rode to join Dengal leaving a rather frustrated Hild behind. She stomped off bitterly to find her mother. Éomer smiled, he was glad to have his uncle beside him. It almost was reminiscent of the days when Théoden would still ride out with them.

"I am glad my lord that you have decided to join us today."

"Why should I not? I have a family to protect. It would be cowardly to do otherwise. I have no excuse, for I am neither a dotard nor an invalid," Ceneleod replied slightly aloof.

"I did not mean to insult you uncle. It is only that, it is indeed a tragedy when a lord will do more than the king does for his country. Théoden has not ridden out with the riders for many months."

"That is his choice. We have our own, and mine is to serve my country. Now let us talk no more of this today. It saddens the spirit," Ceneleod said with a smile, "we have no need of that before a battle."

Éomer nodded as they approached the other riders, mounted or preparing to mount. They left shortly, and came swiftly to the hilly area at the foot of the mountains. They followed the orcs' trail for many miles before finding evidence of their passing. It was strange that none of it had been covered at all, and no attempt at secrecy had been taken. The orcs had left an undisguised path of flattened grass, broken branches, and scorched circles from fires. They were no doubt in a hurry to reach their destination. They stopped to observe the area. Éomer knelt and felt around the charred circle. It was still warm.

They mounted and followed the obvious trail and then spotted them moving at a quick pace towards the north. "Éomer… I do not wish to distract you but if I may ask, what possible motive would the orcs have for moving north? Should they not be returning to Morder in a southerly direction?" A tracker asked quietly as he rode beside the marshal.

"I do not know. These are strange creatures and they bear a white mark, not the eye of Sauron…. We must wait until they have been killed to surmise what their purpose is…"

They approached the group which was nearly thirty and the archers began a full assault, hitting many of them. Some fell, but most continued on with the arrows sticking from their backs. Éomer ordered another volley to cover the spearmen's attack. They were very soon in the midst of the battle and the remaining orcs turned to fight, finally resigning their journey to defend themselves.

Éomer had to slash at one many times before it finally fell to the ground. A large, gash had been inflicted to his leg and the blood from it slowly seeped through the cloth of his garments. By the end his wound seemed minor in comparison with the damage overall. Almost all the men had suffered something and two men lay on the ground their faces pale with death, blood pouring from irrevocable wounds. His uncle stood up from examining them with great effort, bearing a large wound from an arrow that had imbedded itself in his shoulder.

Dengal stood beside him, "My lord, these are no orcs," he said softly looking at the carnage around him.

Éomer examined one lying near his feet, which seemed to be still breathing slightly. His eyelids opened to reveal, two large discolored eyes. He sneered as Éomer knelt and grabbed him by the throat.

"What is your business here foul beast?" he asked slowly bringing his knife the creature's throat and pressing down.

"I do not fear your knife yellow-hair, I am an Uruk-hai!" he said grabbing Éomer's hand with sudden strength and drawing the blade into his neck.

Éomer stood up and release the knife as it was drawn to it's hilt into the Uruk-hai's neck and dark black-red blood gurgled onto the ground.

"Yes Dengal," he said looking up at him, "these are certainly not orcs," he reached down to pick up the helmet of the creature, "And they are certainly not from Sauron," he finished raising the helmet so everyone could see.

**

* * *

****Note:** Hey everybody, Thanks for being extremely patient with this story, I know I have not been faithful in my updates. But my summer has finally started, so hopefully I can get this story sewn up soon. 

I know I've gone a little off book canon with the whole Uruk-hai thing, but I am certain that the Rohirrim would be a little astonished when they first discovered this new breed of orcs.

Many of you asked me about the relationship between Éomer and Ceneleod. He is the husband of Éomer's aunt, Théoden's sister. Morwen and Thengel had 3 children of which Théoden was the only boy.

Thanks for your reviews everybody! I'll try to respond to all of them in the next chapter.


	14. Old Friend

Chapter 14.

Éomer checked his reflection in the pool of water as he headed towards the Great Hall. Dengal and Hild's betrothal had been announced the day after they had returned from the battle. He rubbed his still sore leg softly as his thoughts were interrupted by a clattering of hooves over cobblestones. A horse trotted in tiredly as he looked up. The horse neared and slowed and the figure dismounted. He approached with a hand held up, palm facing outward.

"This is a chance meeting," the familiar voice said with a merry laugh, "son of Éomund, Éomer is it not? It has been many years since I first met you. It was at your sister's party," he said coming forward.

"Boromir, the son of the steward, yes I remember you. Forgive me; the years have been long indeed. But what brings you here?"

Boromir looked at Éomer's garb, "For whatever party you are headed to. It has been to long since I first heard the merry tapping of feet in your uncle's golden hall," he paused and the smile turned to a more pensive look, "I come on my way to the elven city of Imladris, on a matter of business actually. I hoped to break my journey here."

"Imladris? That is some way from here… We are glad to have you here in Aldburg though; you are welcome to join the celebration."

"I think perhaps it would be better if I simply rested for the night. It is necessary that I leave early tomorrow, but I thank you for the invitation."

"I understand, I hope you enjoy a peaceful night," Éomer responded as a servant took Boromir's horse and another led him to the soldier's quarters.

Éomer continued on to the Great Hall. Music seeped out from the room as he entered. He saw many of the soldiers sitting at the table to his right and he looked further on to where couples were dancing and the fiddler tapped his foot to the tune. Dengal and Hild were among them. Éomer felt a tug at his tunic and he looked down at Leofwyn.

"Hello cousin, why were you late?" she asked.

"I had to see too an old friend. You look very pretty today."

"Thank you," she said giggling.

Her dress was white with dark green trim and golden thread created the design of horses' heads with manes flowing down the sleeves. Her red hair was caught up in a half-bun, uncharacteristically tidy.

Éomer mock bowed and took Leofwyn's hand, "Would you care to watch the dancers my lady?" he asked.

"Yes indeed," she said blushing profusely and tottering to link her hand in his proffered arm. He led her to the table where the soldiers sat.

They all rose and inclined their heads toward the little lady which embarrassed her and entertained her very much. As they sat Leofwyn chattered on about the dancers, their dress, and her sister Hild. The dancers sat down as Ceneleod rose and called them to attention.

He held a large goblet in his hand, "My lords and ladies! Friends, and relations, or perhaps friends of relations," he said glancing at Dengal merrily while everyone laughed politely. "We are here to salute Dengal and Hild on the occasion of their betrothal!" he said followed by another burst of cheering.

Éomer raised his glass, and the hall reverberated with the shouting, "Westu Dengal hal! Westu Hild hal!" they yelled and drank. Dengal and Hild smiled at each other happily.

The dancing began again after they had feasted and Éomer offered to escort Leofwyn to her room for the night since it was growing late. Leofwyn was strangely silent as they walked to her room and yawned many times. Éomer shook his own head drowsily as he opened the doors to his own quarters. The music of the fiddler still faintly played from the hall.

* * *

All was quiet the next morning. Doubtless many had not returned from the party till very late. Éomer's footsteps reverberated dully as he approached the room the servants had directed him to. He rapped on the door lightly and slowly it opened revealing a dressed and wide awake Boromir.

"Éomer, come in, come in. I am surprised to see you this early, though I was just getting ready to make my departure," he said gesturing to a chair next to the bed.

Éomer sat gratefully and Boromir smirked at his tired expression, "Did the dancing weary you?" he asked amused.

"No," Éomer yawned, "these early hours. However I wanted to see you off. No doubt you must be leaving soon. What business draws you away so quickly?"

Boromir continued to pack his extra clothes and his expression grew somber, "In truth? Dark business, the business of a country struggling to keep Sauron's domain restricted to Mordor. I go to the elven city to seek an answer and some wise counsel. And perhaps to learn the meaning of a dream that has haunted me for many months."

"I see," though in truth Éomer felt terribly perplexed, "Is there anything else that you shall need for your journey? Food? Supplies?"

"I am in need of some more travel food and a good knife, my own was washed down a river in a flood near the mountain's rivers," Boromir said rolling up his blanket and strapping on his sword belt.

Éomer gathered what he asked for. As Boromir mounted his horse in the courtyard, as the sun's rays started to warm the cobblestones, Éomer cautioned him, "Ride through the Gap of Rohan and try to stay away from Edoras, and any scouts from the Golden city. I do not think they would hinder you but many strange things have happened there of late."

"I will try," Boromir said and urged his horse on, out of the city. Éomer found himself pushing away thoughts of Edoras guiltily. Aldburg had become a haven to him. It was a place where the stink of Saruman's treachery did not fill every cranny. Saruman…the helmet!

He had the evidence to prove the Istari's guilt. The sign on the helmet of the strange Uruk-hai was a white hand. That was the very same symbol as that of Saruman. But Boromir was already gone and he could not warn the brave Gondorian of Isengard's treachery. He groaned inwardly, how could he have forgotten?

Perhaps this place was too much of a rest. As he stalked inside to retrieve his belongings he passed Dengal, "We will ride for Edoras immediately, assemble the men."

Dengal stared at him shocked, "My lord…"

"You may stay Dengal with ten other men to guard the Folde. I will not draw you from the city, but I must leave immediately."

* * *

Éowyn smoothed the rough hair on the colt's nose gently and watched with amusement as his tongue darted out to lick her hand. His dark hair was messy and stuck up all along his neck. His gangly legs made him look all the more a clown but promised for a fast steed in the future.

"We shall call you Windfola, in hopes of many quick rides across the plains," she had spent many weeks in this stall with the new foal. It was an escape from Grima and the dimness of the halls. In the hall she could visibly see the change, the darkness of the corridors, and the coldness of the hearth.

A cold wind blew across her back and she shivered slightly. Autumn was coming swiftly this year, and it almost seemed the world would be caught in eternal winter, and spring would never return to the plains. A shadow moved in the corner of her eye and she turned to see nothing. And to be greeted only by the sound of Windfola's soft snickering and a crying baby in the city.

She turned back to the colt and rubbed his nose, "It will turn out right," she said reassuring herself more than him.

**

* * *

**

**Note:** Hey everybody! I'm updating again already…strangely out of character :) I hoped everybody liked Boromir's return, Sadly it's the last time he'll appear in this story. I promised responses to all my reviewers… so here they are!

kezya- Thanks for the review! I will probably finish the story in about 3 or 4 more chapters, but who knows how quickly I will get it updated, thanks for the review!

Mystikal-Thanks for the review, I hoped you liked the little bit I had with Dengal and Hild. I am not much of a romance writer, as you can probably tell. Thanks again.

Eokat- You are completely right, and that chapter extremely confusing. I meant to have Ceneleod as Théoden's brother-in-law but completely forgot where I was going with that… So sorry. Thanks for the review! It was completely helpful and reminded me of where I was going. I've edited the chapters so they actually make canonical sense.

isilhen- Thanks for the reviews you left! I'm not planning on killing off Dengal but who knows… jk, thanks again.

Voldie on Varsity Track- Thanks for the cookie! I hope you like the rest of it!


	15. Return to Edoras

Chapter 15.

When they reached the gates of the city at early evening the entry was closed to them.

"Open the gates to the third marshal of the mark!" the herald cried and after many minutes the doors slowly opened. They entered and Éomer immediately felt the oppressive weight of the city upon his shoulders.

The people on the road stared at him woefully as he and the men rode up to the stables. Unknown faces beneath the Rohirrim helmets eyed him cautiously. He heard some of the people talking as they road on.

"…the marshal, Éomer… treacherous." "They say he wants…throne for himself."

Éomer sat up straighter in his saddle and looked forward with a steely gaze. He met Éowyn in the stables. She greeted him with a half-smile but her words were cold, "So the valiant Marshal of the Folde returns to us. What time has passed? Two months?" and she turned back to the foal she was tending.

He paused at her words and led Brynefot to an empty stall, "What is his name?" he asked placing a hand on the foal's nose gently.

"Windfola," she said and her voice softened, "Uncle is much changed," she said looking up and placing a hand on Éomer's shoulder, "We have needed you here. Grima has more control than ever," she stopped as a messenger approached.

"My lord Éomer, you are summoned to the king."

Éomer nodded to Éowyn, "We will speak later," he said simply and left.

Éowyn glared at him and continued to tend the foal. She shook her head growled and hurried to catch up with her brother. They entered by a side door and Éomer almost stopped short, shocked by the old, wasted man that sat on the throne. He and Éowyn stopped three feet from the dais.

"Welcome Éomer, favored marshal of the Mark," the king said in a barely audible voice, his mouthopening only slightlyas he spoke.

Grima stood up and glared at Éomer, "What brings the third marshal from his duties in the Folde? Have you abandoned them completely and exposed us to the enemy?"

Éomer stepped forward and looked Grima in the eyes, "The enemy? I have come to inform the king of a far greater treachery than the one you speak of. This comes from a minion of Saruman. His sign of the white hand is clearly shown on the front," he said holding out the helmet and dropping it on the dais stairs.

Grima stiffened and his tongue darted out wetting his pale lips, "That is a lie. This is obviously a plot of Mordor to break our alliance with Orthanc and make us vulnerable to an attack from them," he straightened and his words grew more confident, "I am surprised that you could not think of that on your own without the king's help. Truly he is the wisest of the wise, and you bear little resemblance to him," Grima added sarcastically and set his hand on the king's shoulder.

Éomer started forward his hands clenching, but Éowyn stopped him with a warning gesture.

Grima spoke again, "Is there any other issue to discuss or are you in need of ridding us of more time, and risking the duty of your post?"

Éomer boiled within, steam rising through his body. He turned quickly and left without another word. Éowyn watched as Grima smiled at her and then at the king, "Look my lord and lady at the lack of respect your nephew holds for the king," Éowyn left before Grima finished.

She searched the stables and the hall until a soldier directed her to the watch towers near the gates. Brusquely she brushed past the gate wardens and found her brother watching the plains, before the gates. She stood by him silently and waited for him to speak. His eyes reflected the sun setting before them, the burning fire tangible.

"I did not think he would change so much. His health is failing, he looks as if he will live only another year," Éomer said trying hard to keep his voice from cracking.

"Yes, as he withers, Grima gains more control," Éowyn said coldly.

Éomer grabbed her by the shoulders, "How can you stand there and state that with such frozen carelessness? What has possessed you of late Éowyn, do you care nothing for the kingdom? Or me? Has your heart grown that cold?"

"You left me here, alone to try and defend the whole city from that snake's devious plans. While you are off in the Folde, I have had to watch the king suffer under a dozen torments, and grow more senile with each passing day. Tell me Éomer what is my power, what can I do! This noble country can look after itself; I wish a hundred times that I was dead on some battle field, that I could take out my anger, and die nobly with honor. I will not die old and abandoned like our uncle! I will not perish with dried porridge on my dress and gray hair, I would rather take my own life than suffer that fate," she whispered angrily at him and wrested free of his grip.

"Whether you realize it or not sister, that advisor has more control over you than you surmise. Who put those thoughts in your head do you think? The same man who poisons the king's ears every day. He is so obvious in his desire for you I wish to wring his neck."

"Yes and be banished from the kingdom in a minute. More men have been replaced as soldiers than any year past," she said smirking but glanced around to see if one might be listening.

A small commotion stopped Éomer's response and he looked down warily. The soldiers shouted and Éomer could faintly see the outline of a bent figure outside the gates. A few soldiers a yard away began to speak together.

"It is only the old beggar. Grima said yesterday to keep him out, that he is an ill-conceived spy sent from Sauron," one said leaning against his spear.

"Old beggar?" Éomer asked peering down again.

"Yes my lord, he came last night seeking shelter from the cold. But a message came from Grima forbidding him to enter."

"Let him in," Éomer said simply.

"What, but my lord…"

"Are you deaf? Let him in! Grima was mistaken," Éomer said but the soldier looked unconvinced, "Soldier, I am the Third Marshal of the Mark, grandson of Thengel and Morwen. I am nephew of the king himself, firstborn to his favorite sister. Choose quickly to heed me, or choose quickly a grievous punishment."

The soldier nodded and shouted the order down to the men at the ground level. Éomer and Éowyn quickly rushed down the stairs and stood waiting as the gates slowly creaked open. The wizened figure almost fell to the ground, but Éomer caught him and drew him up.

"Gandalf?" he whispered.

The man nodded, "You are Éomer. I thank you for saving my fall. If you would not mind, I am in dire need of rest. Could you lead me to some quarters?"

Éomer looked at Éowyn nervously and they began to lead him away from the gates, "Shut the gates, I will see to this man. Do not open for any other until the morn," Éomer said and turned back to leading Gandalf.

They took him around to the side door of Edoras that the servants used and led him down a narrow hall. The brother and sister stopped for a moment thinking, "He can stay in my room tonight. I dare not let Grima know he is here, though he will surely find out by the rising of the sun," Éomer said.

"Where will you sleep?"

"On the ground, that way I can keep an eye on him. It would be best if you go to the court and distract Grima and the king. They will want to know where I am. That should give me enough time to transfer the wizard to my room," Éomer said hurriedly starting off with the old man in tow. Éowyn nodded and went back the way she had come, to enter the Great Hall.

It took some time for Éomer to drag the wizard secretly through the halls to his own room. He avoided servants as he could, especially the ones he did not recognize from his past visits and quietly opened the doors that led to the main hallway. His room was close, and they entered it with barely a sound. Éomer shut the door behind them. He laid Gandalf on the bed and sat down on the foot of the bed wearily.

"I thank you Éomer. My strength has left me for this day," the wizard sat up and looked at Éomer, "My business has been somewhat confusing of late. I went to an old friend for advice and found myself caught in a treacherous web."

"Saruman?" Éomer asked quietly.

The grey wizard looked up surprised, "Yes. How could you know that?"

Éomer had never seen a wizard surprised before and he almost laughed, "His treachery surrounds us here. I believe Grima is a servant of his, but I have no proof that would persuade the king that we are being attacked by the very wizard his advisor tells him is a faithful ally."

Gandalf nodded with understanding, "That might be so. I have been blind to his treachery. When I heard rumors, I dismissed them as folly. He has always been a friend and ally of mine. That such corruption could be found in the council…" the wizard's speech died off for a moment and then renewed, "But I must leave her quickly. I have an errand to finish that must not be delayed, and the more time I spend talking, the more time Saruman has to deceive everyone."

Éomer nodded, "I had hoped that you would be able to help us. But I realize this mission must be far more important."

"It is."

"Well then we shall have to see the king after all. I cannot secretly give you anything to help on your journey. We must rely on the fact that Wormtongue is still very afraid of you. You must put in a grand performance tomorrow if you are to succeed."

"Yes, I think you are correct. For that I must have rest, so I think I will turn in for the night, if you do not mind," the wizard said settling comfortably down into Éomer's bed.

Éomer stood up and took an extra blanket from the foot of the bed. He locked the door and then spread the blanket on the ground. He changed in the adjoining room and then lay down for the night, cold and exhausted.

**

* * *

Note:** Hey guys, hoped you enjoyed this chapter… Gandalf comes to Edoras from his capture on Orthanc…. 

Curious fact: Orthanc means cunning mind in the tongue of the Rohirrim. Thanks for all the reviews. Please keep them coming! I will be writing to you guys in the notes in future chapters.


	16. Flight of the Wizard

Chapter 16.

Éomer woke the next morning with a groggy head. He had not realized before how cold the stone floors of his room could become during the night. He threw off the blanket he was using and quickly changed into a warmer shirt. Gandalf was still deeply asleep on the bed. The only sound was his soft snoring.

Suddenly loud pounding startled Éomer. The door shook as it continued. Éomer opened up the door slightly and met the eyes of a disgruntled officer. Three soldiers, their armor in disarray stood behind him. The early hours obviously had affected more people than just Éomer.

"Lord Éomer you are summoned to the hall. We will escort you and the vagabond you have taken into the city there," the officer said his voice dripping with self-importance.

"Vagabond? I ordered a friend of the country and the king enter and take rest because of his weariness. If that is a crime I am guilty," Éomer said looking behind him to see Gandalf rising from the bed.

"Rest assured you are guilty. Grima, advisor to the king ordered that the gates be closed to him because of his known associations with the enemy. Now either you will open the door to us willingly or we will be forced to open it without you approval."

Éomer nodded and stepped aside. Two soldiers quickly stepped in and took Gandalf's arms. The captain laid a hand on Éomer's arm and led him out of the room. It was dreary and cold in the main hall, the fire on the main hearth had not begun to burn brightly yet and the king sat slumped on his throne. Hardly any sunlight entered through the windows, and many pairs of dark eyes watched them from the shadowed corners of the hall. The soldiers guided them to the throne. As they stopped Éomer shrugged off the guard's hand and met Grima's glare.

"You are accused of treason Éomer. Of taking the liberty of ordering the gate wardens to perform tasks strictly prohibited by the king. And of harboring spies of the kingdom. Have you anything to say?"

Éomer almost spoke but Gandalf stopped him with a look, "I did not know that Rohan had a new ruler, Grima. Nor was I aware that the rightful king Théoden was not able to speak for himself. I have never been an enemy of Rohan, though the tidings I bring are ill. I come from captivity in Orthanc," the wizard said meeting Grima's eyes defiantly. Grima held the gaze for only a few minutes before being forced to look elsewhere. Gandalf continued.

"Saruman the white is no more. He has proclaimed himself Saruman of many colors and has chosen allegiance with Sauron. He is a traitor, and no doubt he is the one that has been sending forces to attack you. Of late he has performed breeding experiments in the caves of Orthanc. You may know them, they are swarthy and travel during the day as well as the night, and on their helmets they bear the white hand of Saruman.

Éomer could not help to smirk at Grima as the advisor coward under the wizard's words. The king seemed to be sitting straighter in his chair and actually listening as Gandalf spoke, "I must bring this news to others. Every hour hastens Sauron's victory. I pray good king Théoden for a horse of you; the fastest that you can spare so that I may bear this news swiftly."

Grima seemed to find his tongue and spoke in a slow, deliberate voice, "How do we know that this news you bring is true Gandalf Greyhame, oft you have come to us bearing news that seems dark and dreadful. But who is to say that you speak the truth. I have heard other repo…"

"I did not address you Grima, nor will I submit myself to your dim assumptions. Hear me now king Théoden, lend me a horse so that I may go," Gandalf said vehemently, interrupting Grima.

The court was silent for many minutes, and Grima watched in growing horror as the king stood up from his throne and in a fading voice spoke to the wizard, "Take any horse, only be gone ere tomorrow is old," he said simply and then left the throne room with Grima hurrying after.

Gandalf shrugged off the guard's grip and nodded to Éomer as he followed him to the stables. Gandalf spoke quietly as they went, "His mind will soon be overthrown Éomer. Grima has a strong grip upon it. I must hasten to Rivendell, the haven of the elves to council Elrond half-elven of my news."

"Only three days ago Boromir, son of the Steward Denethor of Gondor arrived in Rohan. He left the next morning with little explanation of his journey, but told me that he traveled to Rivendell to receive council from the wise," Éomer said holding the door to the stables open for Gandalf.

"That is news that I did not know," he paused thoughtfully, "I will not know his full purpose until I arrive there myself. Now Éomer, I do not think the king will take action against Saruman but you must protect the horse breeders along the borders of your country near the gap of Rohan. It is from there that he might attack and slaughter the innocents that stand in his way."

"I will relocate them to the Folde, my uncle rules in Aldburg, and he will listen to me," Éomer said nodding.

Gandalf stopped in front of the largest stall in the stables. Inside Shadowfax lord of the horses of Rohan looked at them curiously. Éomer looked at Gandalf with renewed amazement as he opened the gate and began to approach the horse.

"He will not let you mount him Gandalf. He is one of the Mearas and will not bear anyone but the king of Rohan."

"I believe you," Gandalf said opening the door and pulling Éomer back against the wall as Shadowfax withthunderinghooves galloped out of the city. The wizard turned to Éomer with a smile, "But I can chase him until he is worn and tamer to my touch. Now remember all that I have told you, and above else watch the worm…I must hasten, goodbye son of Éomund, until we meet again."

With that the wizard bounded out of the city with renewed strength and energy. Éomer watched him go regretfully and turned back to the hall. He would have to prepare his men and leave immediately to relocate the horse-breeders. His uncle would have many men willing to help once they reached Aldburg. He only hoped that he would be able to persuade the people to move without the king's own orders. He would not risk telling Théoden of it now that he had already been accused of treason.

* * *

Grima wrung his hands nervously as he served Théoden another glass of mead. The king seemed to be acting with renewed vigor, and without regret Wormtongue doubled the dosage of poison in his cup. Théoden now barely kept his glazed eyes open, and saliva dripped off of his chin. The king's advisor rubbed his head and flung the door to the study open. A guard employed by Grima stood outside the door.

"Quickly, find if Éomer has left the city yet, and bring news of Gandalf to me," he said in a raspy voice, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead.

The soldier did not leave, "My lord Éomer has left but a moment ago with his men from the Folde. And Gandalf left the city an hour ago in pursuit of Shadowfax," he replied.

"Shadowfax!" Grima screeched slamming the door shut and entering the hall, "And all plans go awry," he said to himself, "Guard the king and let no one see him unless you are pressed greatly, I must leave immediately on an errand," he finished not waiting to hear the soldier's reply.

In less than half an hour Wormtongue rode a horse out of the gates onto the plains of Rohan towards Orthanc. He kicked the beast as his mind raced. He must tell Saruman immediately of Gandalf's words. Their treachery seemed to be totally revealed. Foam quickly surfaced around the horse's lips and his flanks became glossy with exertion. They were many hours into the ride when suddenly a great terror overcame both Grima and the horse. The man found himself face down on the ground. Before him were a pair of iron tipped boots and the end of a black, ragged cloak.

Fear began to fill his body, and he could barely move. His only wish was to dig deep in the ground away from this person. He dared not to look up. A raspy, cold voice that turned his bones to ice spoke slowly, "We have a need to talk to you Grima of Edoras. Perhaps you will be of more use to us then your deceiving master Saruman. If you tell us, perhaps we will let you live. Perhaps."

* * *

**Note:** Hey I'm glad to be updating again, I think I will be putting the last of the chapters up this week for all of you. I know the last bit of this chapter is a little hard to understand, however if you have read Unfinished Tales by Tolkien you will find everything cleared up, though I will explain it next time. Some of you were confused about Gandalf's appearance. After his imprisonment in Orthanc he was rescued by an eagle and was brought to Rohan in order that he might get a steed and ride to Rivendell with all haste. This is all before the council of Rivendell.

I will be going back and smoothing over the rough spots in the story, but for now I'd just like to get it finished! Any editing that you would like to add would be greatly appreciated! I promise to respond to my reviewers at the end of this long haul, keep them coming, they are a real comfort. Thanks.


	17. Stubborness of the Rohirrim

Chapter 17.

They reached Aldburg in a torrent of cold weather. The first of the fall's chill had left icicles on the ledges and statues of the city and left frost on every blade of grass. The fire inside the main hall roared merrily on the hearth and many people sat around it. They all looked up suddenly when the door opened and Éomer and his soldiers entered bringing with them a cold blast of air.

The lord Ceneleod rose with a smile followed close behind by Dengal. Éomer shook their hands and joined them at the fire, but remained standing. "My lord uncle, time is wasting here. I must relocate all the horse breeders and farmers near the gap of Rohan to this city before they are destroyed," all talking immediately ceased. The men looked at him curiously and a few rose and left. Ceneleod looked grave and led Éomer to another side room. They left the soldiers behind to warm by the fire, though Dengal followed them.

"You indeed have some grave news to speak. But it would have been better had you waited to tell me this news in private. From whence have you learned this? Does the king fear an attack?" his uncle asked guiding Éomer to a couple of chairs.

"No my lord, nor does he fear anything. He is held under the thumb of a conniving counselor, I have not dared to approach him on this matter. I will tell you this now, if we do not relocate those people before the week is out, ill things will come of it. If you will not help me than I will do this deed alone unless some of my men will hazard the task with me," he said heatedly, pacing the floor as he spoke.

"I do not doubt your sincerity, or your news. However, I cannot lend you any help but my own. My word I think will not be enough to persuade those people to leave their homes," he said shaking his head and stroking his beard.

"I will help you Éomer. Foul weather is coming down upon us and it will be dreary work in sleet and frozen mud," Dengal said putting a hand on his captain's shoulder.

"I thank you, but I fear we must set out immediately needless of the weather. There is not a minute to waste; I do not think the thick-skinned orcs of Saruman will wait for the sun to shine."

"Sit for a moment nephew and tell me your news, I will order the horses to be saddled immediately after, but they will need some rest after carrying you from Edoras," Ceneleod said and motioned to a chair.

Éomer nodded and told his uncle of all that had happened, of Gandalf's arrival and departure and of his news. Ceneleod listened with a darkening countenance. He ordered that food be brought to the new arrivals and they ate gratefully. Éomer was now glad that his uncle had talked him out of starting immediately. After they had finished talking and they were all quiet and the only noise was the chewing of food and the scraping of mugs across the table Leofwyn entered with Hild. They had come in to see to the men's cups and to take away the plates. Leofwyn danced around the room and kissed their cheeks and told Éomer that her horse had finally become old enough to ride and that they would have done so today but for the weather.

Éomergulped and continued to eat; his young cousin did not seem to mind in the least and left skipping after Hild who had ended up clearing all the plates herself. Ceneleod tried to persuade Éomer to wait until the morning now that it was only three hours until nightfall, but in the end he left with his soldiers. They planned to find shelter in a village nearby. The lord Ceneleod would join them in the morning with what men he could muster.

As Dengal had foreseen it was a cold and dreary ride. Mud splashed up on their horses and their armor, and by the time they reached the little village just west of Aldburg they were very grubby. The village, larger than most in the Folde had one inn, but only room enough for ten of the soldiers. The rest were welcomed into the homes of various people and settled down for the night with growling stomachs and not nearly enough blankets. The next morning they would ride further still to the land of a well-respected horse-breeder named Anborn who employed many of the men of the village they were staying in as stable-hands. Hopefully with his cooperation they would be able to persuade other horse breeders to come to the city.

* * *

Anborn was not impressed by Éomer's words or his "grungy looking soldiers" he would not leave his land until the king came himself and told him of the need. He was a gruff man in appearance and speech. He was nearing sixty and had keen green eyes that looked out beneath bushy grey eyebrows. His hair was shorn to his shoulders and like many men of Rohan braided in two plaits that rested on his shoulders. His beard was the only part of his face that looked trimmed and clean. 

His property was impressive, though the stables looked like they were cared for more than the house itself. It was built of stones and by his invitation to them they assumed it had at least five spare rooms for them to sleep in that night. The horses were grazing outside, and Éomer saw at least twenty that were of good quality. Anborn offered them a midday meal, and they accepted, hoping to have some chance to persuade the man to leave his home.

Their horses were taken to the stables to be watered and fed. They entered the house and saw that it was tidy but run down. Anborn did not seem to be a man who cared about his own well being as much as his horses. They were joined by several men who worked there and one woman who they discovered was Anborn's only child.

"This is Déorwyn, my only child," he said brusquely and that seemed enough information though there seemed to be no wife or mother in the house. The girl was dressed in breeches and a tunic and her hair in a single golden braid. She was silent, and the only thing she seemed to inherit from her father was his green eyes. Éomer noticed that she listened to the whole conversation with interest, as he tried to persuade her father she watched him curiously but turned away when he met her eyes. Anborn took less notice of the conversation than she did.

"I am not leaving all my land so those filthy demons can burn it down. They have stolen enough horses in their raids to make any man poor," he said taking a large bite of bread.

"Horses?" Dengal asked curiously.

"Yes, they stole three last week, the only black horses we had among our lot," Anborn answered, "They only take the black ones, meant for some dark purpose I shouldn't wonder."

Éomer did not respond but ate his food pensively, "My lord Anborn, I thank you for your kindness, but if we cannot persuade you to leave than we must leave and try to move the other breeders," he paused, "If you come with us now I guarantee you that we will take all your horses to Aldburg, they will be well cared for."

Anborn brought his fist down on the table, his daughter flinched, "No! I will not take them to some foreign stable to be fed ill food and die of thirst at the hands of stupid, city, stable hands!"

Éomer nodded and stood, "Thank you for the meal, we will take our leave."

The men retrieved their horses and they left a few minutes later discouraged. Cold rain began to pour down on their heads gently until they were both wet and tired. They reached the small village of Dunwang looking even more disheveled than they had been before. They were stopped by suspicious men who held spears.

"What is your business in Dunwang strangers?"

"I am the third marshal of the Mark, Éomer, and nephew to the king. I am leading my men here to bear news and counsel," Éomer responded trying to sound impressive though his throat was becoming sore.

The men lowered their spears, their leader stepped forward, "I am sorry my lord, four days ago seven horsemen rode through our village. They were dressed in black and though we knew not why, the fear of everything dark and dreadful was put in our hearts when we saw them. The horses and dogs were put into a frenzy and we lost three of our mares."

Éomer listened half-heartedly, "I do not know of these riders, but I have no doubt they are in league with Saruman. New has reached us of the wizard's betrayal, he is massing companies of orcs to attack the border villages of Rohan. We come to help you move to Aldburg where you will find safety."

The men nodded and seemed to be more receptive to the idea of moving. The men showed them where the horses could be tied, and invited Éomer to come to each house with them to share his news. By the end of the day seven of the nine families had agreed to come with him if their horses would be kept safe in the city also. The two families watched them leave on heavily laden horses and carts. By this time Ceneleod had come with about twenty men to aid them. They had stayed many hours at the house of Anborn to persuade him to move into the city, but he ignored their advice.

Five soldiers went with the villagers to conduct them to the city in safety, though they did not fear an attack on such a small group of people. They settled down for the night and made ready a camp in the middle of the abandoned houses of Dunwang. The sun had barely set when the scouts cried out and hoof beats were heard on the road. One soldier that they had sent on rode into the camp his horse flecked with white foam. His right arm hung at his side uselessly, a large gash ran from his forehead to his chin.

He dismounted with help from other soldiers and spoke with a tired voice, "My lord Éomer, the settlement of Anborn was attacked, we tried to help to defend it but they were too many."

"And the villagers from Dunwang?" Éomer asked quietly.

"Three of their men and two women were killed when I departed to find help from you," Éomer nodded and immediately ordered food and medical attention for the man. He along with his men and Dengal left immediately. Ceneleod would stay with his men in order to protect Dunwang and its remaining occupants. By the man's report a group of only twenty orcs had attacked.

* * *

The settlement was burned to the ground. A few posts and stuck out of the ground like the bones of some huge animal, tattered pieces of cloth rippled in the wind like ruined flags and banners. The bodies of horses were being moved into a pile to burn, and another was already burning, presumably with the bodies of dead men. One of his soldiers approached with Anborn. Both had numerous bruises but neither seemed to have suffered anything beyond that. A strange look of humility seemed to adorn Anborn's face as he spoke. 

"Welcome back marshal, I cannot offer you any food this time around, nor water for your horses," he said quietly, his voice quiet.

"We came as quickly as we could. How many live from the village of Dunwang and from your household?" he answered gently.

"Ten live from the village, four of the men, three women, and three children. Only two are alive from my household… myself and a horse hand… my daughter and the others are dead," He said his voice cracking with emotion as he struggled to keep a straight face.

"I am sorry," he said sincerely, and then added, "I assure you that the Lord Ceneleod will provide at least five horses to replace those you lost and give you fine lodgings in the city."

Anborn smirked in an odd, sad way, "It's not the horses I'll miss my lord."

* * *

**Note:** Hey guys, hope you liked this chapter, I'm working hard to finish up the last chapters so responses to reviewers will be included in the last chapter. In case nobody has guessed, the riders Grima met and who rode through Dunwang are the ringwraiths on their way to Isengard. The story of them coming across Grima is included in The Unfinished Tales. 

Anborn- only born

Déorwyn- friend of the deer

Dunwang-hill/hilly place


	18. Fords of the Isen

Chapter 18.

It had taken nearly the whole winter to empty the lands of the horse-herders. The villages were great distances apart and many of the people were as stubborn as Anborn when it came to moving into the city. After telling his story to them, Anborn persuaded many to relocate as he had done. The city's quarters were nearly full, and the stables even more so. Luckily, many soldiers from Théodred's battalion had been in need of horses at the time and the city of Aldburg was more than happy to oblige them, for the right price.

It was a pale, February morning, when a messenger from Théodred came to find Éomer in the city. He gave him an audience and with his uncle and Dengal listened to his story in the dining hall.

"Two days ago Théodred received news from his scouts that forces were mustering at the Gates of Isengard. The only possible explanation for this, after learning of Saruman's betrayal from your own mouth would be an attack on the Fords of Isen and an invasion of the Westfold. The second marshal has sent me to tell you of this and procure your help to defend the Fords with him and Grimbold his captain. Messages have also been sent to Elfhelm in Edoras. They left immediately for the Fords before I left for this city."

"We will come to their aid immediately, gather the men and we will leave within the next hour. I only pray we do not come too late," Éomer answered and then left with Dengal to gather the other men.

* * *

Théodred knew that the battle depended on the strength and numbers of his men. Saruman had chosen the spot well, he had the advantage here. The river ran slowly and was shallow enough for the horsemen to cross, however if the horsemen were beaten they would be forced to retreat back across the Fords. This would lead to disaster because the enemy could surround them easily once they attacked and then the only possible retreat would be a long journey to Gondor.

Théodred prayed that the messengers had reached Éomer and Elfhelm in time. Until then he would have to attack the enemy with eight companies and leave only three on the east bank with Grimbold. The adversary's force was larger than any could have expected from Saruman. Although he had heard of his treachery he did not know that it ran so deep. His horse stirred beneath him as he slowly led the companies in crossing the river.

They gained the Fords at sunset, suffering heavy losses of men. The enemy force had been huge and dangerous. The slow moving waters of the river gleamed crimson and gold. Théodred wiped the sweat off his nose and looked to the west bank where Grimbold and fifty dismounted Rohirrim defended it. He chose to stay on the eyot with his own company, unhorsed. The rest he sent across the river to defend the newly acquired east bank. There, also, were the extra horse herds.

The waters lapped serenely against the eyot when suddenly Saruman's eastern force attacked. An arrow grazed off Théodred's shoulder. He could see with a darkening countenance that Dunlending horsemen and warg-riders were attacking. The horses stamped nervously at the sight of the wolves and their gleaming, yellow teeth. The air was filled with the hissing of arrows as the eastern forces of the Rohirrim sent the enemy a volley.

The wargs growled as they charged at the horse herds and dug their teeth into the horses' warm flesh. All the unattended horses were destroyed, or had escaped over the plains in terror. Behind the warg-riders came two battalions of fierce Uruks who with a great battle cry, ran forth to meet the Eorlingas.

The eastern defenses were quickly swept away. Men fell into the water screaming. Théodred cried out as one of his men turned toward him with an arrow protruding from his face and fell into the water. Théodred choked back his fear and turned in astonishment to see the western bank already taken and Saruman's forces closing in on him from all sides. The battle had gone just as he had feared it would.

Wayward Eorlingas were running in circles, petrified, "To me Eorlingas!" he yelled out in an effort to regroup the men. He turned in panic with eyes wild. A strong group of orcs began to march on the eyot, mouths bared in snarls and each bearing a keen axe. Théodred raised his sword with a shout and strove to the front of the line, "To me Eorlingas!" he cried again clashing his sword against the first orc.

The orc parried his blow with his axe, knocking Théodred's sword awry. The second marshal of the Mark blocked the next blow with his shield and the axe stuck firmly in it. He took the opportunity to strike of its head. They were completely overrun. Théodred vaguely heard Grimbold's voice cry out as he felt the cold bite of iron cut through his skin. Warm blood gushed out of the wound as he fell onto the gravely ground of the eyot.

He cried out, but the person to whom he cried was far away now, sitting on a throne, unaware of his surroundings. He could feel his father's hand on his head as he faded in and out of consciousness. He could remember how firm and commanding the king's voice had once been. He could remember how much he admired him. For the sake of that memory he struggled to stay alive.

Pain oozed out of every pore until it dimmed to a dull throb and then to no feeling whatsoever. He knew that this feeling of nothing was dangerous. He must stay awake for the throne he would someday take, for the worm he wanted to kill, for the brave line of Eorl and for the race of all men. His hand clutched at his stomach as warm liquid leaked through his fingers. He felt the cold water of the Isen lap on his other hand. The water seemed red to his blurry vision, whether by the blood of his fallen men or by the light of the setting sun he could not determine.

He felt a hand supporting his neck. His eyes met Grimbold's own. The captain's voice seemed husky and his eyes were strangely lit by unshed tears, "My lord Théodred," he said clasping his hand, heedless of the blood.

He struggled to speak though thick, blood, that clogged his throat, "Grimbold, I had thought… you were dead."

Grimbold shook his head no and tried to raise the wounded man, "No Grimbold let me lie here – to keep the Fords until Éomer comes," Théodred said and closed his eyes, his body was suddenly limp, his hand losing it's grip on Grimbold's.

The last light of the sun suddenly disappeared and a harsh horn sounded. Théodred did not hear it. Instead of the body-strewn river banks of the Isen he saw the wind rustling through plains grass, and heard the distant sound of music from a lyre. A white horse galloped on green grass. Suddenly, he found himself standing in a great hall; he and the many other people who sat in thrones along the walls were dressed in finery. Tall men and women of obvious Rohirrim lineage stood to welcome him.

A woman's hand shyly grasped his own and a strong, masculine hand gripped his shoulder. He looked up to see his uncle smiling at him. The woman who held his hand was less familiar. She seemed to him some distant memory from a dream. Her eyes were deep blue, and she smelled of simbelmynë as she embraced him. He realized that it was his mother.

They all looked up at a man who approached, and bowed low. Théodred instantly recognized him from the tapestries and songs that had told generations of Rohirrim about his legend.

"Westu Théodred hal, you have come to the Halls of Mandos," he said his voice like a mighty waterfall, his flaxen hair shining upon his shoulders, "Welcome my child to the end of your journeys, and to the end of all journeys."

"My lord," Théodred interjected humbly, "What of Rohan and our people?"

"For them the journey will go on much as it has before, the valiant will rise up, the wicked will fall, and great kings will be appointed to rule. Have no worries here in this place my child, the courage of our people will never die, it will be passed on even when shadow covers all the land and tales of our deeds are long forgotten. Our line will always feel the tug of bravery and honor at their hearts, even if they do not know from where the urge comes," The lord Eorl said and led him in the midst of the throng of people.

* * *

Éomer felt the sprinkle of rain fall on his face as he urged his men to hurry toward the river. They had already spotted many dead bodies strewn on the ground as they galloped towards the riverside. They quickly emerged from a small growth of trees and looked around them in shock. Hundreds of dead orcs and men and horses lay on the ground, soaked from the river and the rain. A small group of men were gathering the dead men into a pile to bury.

Grimbold approached him with a somber look, and Éomer dismounted. The captain looked to his hands which held a helmet Éomer knew all to well. He took it from Grimbold roughly and looked around frantically, "Where is he Grimbold!"

"My lord," he was interrupted by Éomer who grabbed him brutally by the shoulders.

"Where is he!"

"He was killed!" Grimbold yelled back and then his voice softened, "I am sorry Éomer, I was cut off from him when they came, a group of orcs attacked the eyot, just like they were looking for him," he held his head and his voice cracked, "After he died Elfhelm and his men came to reinforce us. Many died, but after Théodred was killed the enemy dispersed, almost as if it was their goal. We fought orcs trying to drag off his body; he had taken a blow to the stomach. He wanted to stay here and keep the fords, he wanted to wait for you to come," Grimbold finished his shoulders shaking.

Éomer released him and choked as he spoke, "I am so sorry Grimbold, I am sorry… Please let me see him, I must take his body to Edoras,"

Grimbold straightened, "Tis nothing my lord, I do not know what this must feel like, his body is this way."

* * *

**Note:** Hello my faithful reviewers thank you so much for your support. We are finally nearing the end of this story. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it was very hard for me to write, and I probably will repost it due to editing at least a couple of times in the future. If you have any suggestions feel free to tell me so I can improve the reading experience.

This chapter is strictly book based, on the unfinished tales and the appendices, so any incongruence with the TT movie were caused by a different story told by Tolkien's books. I hope I didn't create a lot of confusion for you all! Thanks again!


	19. Battle against the Worm

Chapter 19.

Many eyes had watched him as he rode up the path with his men. The people of Edoras stared at the makeshift bed they carried between two horses that bore the body of Théodred. His face was white and his chest was still. The soldiers at the gate had not questioned them this time, and the guards at the doors to the hall did not delay them. Éomer helped another soldier to carry in the cot. He suddenly wished that Dengal had not planned his wedding to Hild for this week; he wanted his captain's support before the king.

As he entered he saw the king slumped on the throne, and his sister behind him like the sole beacon of light and hope in the whole place. Grima was also there, and he stood as they approached, mock grief written in his features, but for a small gleam in his eyes which seemed to Éomer a spark of happiness. Éowyn descended swiftly from the stairs and approached the cot. For the first time in many years a tear dripped down from her eye, and fell upon Théodred's blue lips. Her long fingers stroked his lifeless digits. Éomer could not speak as he saw the look of hurt and hopelessness that so described his own feelings, in her eyes.

He gave his own corner of the cot to another soldier and approached the throne, "My lord, my uncle… you son Théodred is dead. He and his men were caught by surprise, the force from Saruman was much larger than any could have expected. The Fords are still being defended by your faithful servants Grimbold and Elfhelm," he paused and sought to gather his thoughts, Grima watched him closely, "My lord, I could not come quickly enough to help him and his men. Your son wanted to stay and defend the Fords until I came…I am sorry," he said choking as he spoke. All the emotions from his life came flooding over him like a tidal wave.

Grima approached the throne and set a hand on the King's, "My lord I am afraid all is true, your son is dead… he would have not fallen had his reinforcements come, but he stood valiantly until the end. This is a foul blow, especially when only this week Shadowfax has returned wild and untamed, allowing no man to touch him. Tis a wonder anyone would trust a wizard with that horse."

Éowyn spoke quietly with a tear still shining on her cheek like a piece of crystal ice, "My brother Éomer would have come with adequate numbers if you had not ignored his warning and the warning of Gandalf. They told you of Saruman's treachery Grima and you ignored it. Tis no one's fault save your own that Théodred is dead," she said bitterly, her eyes piercing Grima to the bone.

Grima looked hurt and stunned and did not have time to answer, Éomer ordered the soldiers to take the body to a room to be prepared for burial. Then he and his soldiers left. The soldiers had habitation in the city and Éomer decided they would stay until more news came from the Fords. He and Éowyn sat by the bedside of Théodred for many hours. No words were needed, Éomer could not describe his grief to her or show it outwardly, and it was not in his nature. In his heart he knew she understood. She did not cry again, but sat softly stroking Éomer's hand.

The next morning scouts came from Aldburg, but they did not bring the news that he had hoped. Elfhelm and Grimbold still held the fords but news of a group of orcs coming down from Emyn Muil had reached scouts. It was a large group of at least forty orcs, and some of the Uruks. Éomer brought the news immediately to Théoden. The king's appearance had not changed, and it seemed that the news of his son's death had not yet hit home.

"Absolutely not!" Grima said, raising his voice at Éomer's request. "We have just suffered a most grievous loss at the death of the only heir to the throne, we will not have you gallivanting off with no solid proof of an attack."

"My dear Grima, I will not be gallivanting, I will be stopping a large, confirmed, group of enemies from attacking our country? For what other purpose was I assigned to my post as Third marshal of the Mark than to do just this?"

"You were assigned to you post in order to protect the Folde and to follow the king's orders."

"Then what are they, I have not heard him speak yet?"

Théoden raised his head slightly and in a mumbled voice spoke to Grima, "The king wishes you to stay in Edoras," Grima said triumphantly, "And if I were you Éomer," Grima said drawing closer to him, "I would obey the orders. You are already under severe scrutiny, and I do believe the punishment for treason is death."

"Are you threatening me Wormtongue?"

"I never threaten, my dear Éomer, I promise," he said his voice dangerous and his eyes alight with an inner fire.

* * *

His hands were covered with blood. "I cannot stay," his mother's eyes staring into his as the words echoed over and over again. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" and then silence, darkness. He could smell sweat and blood and death. His father's eyes staring into his, and then closing, his cracked lips moving, "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" then silence, darkness. The blood was still there on his hands and the smell made him wish he were dead.

Suddenly, Théoden was there slumped and bent with age and sickness, he looked at Éomer sadly and did not say anything. He simply sat and stared at him through dead eyes. The eyes turned into Théodred's own, he lay there in a pile of his own blood staring at Éomer. His hands held the axe that had bit through his stomach. "I must stay… I must stay for Éomer's coming."

Éowyn's hand was upon his shoulder. She took his hands but withdrew horrified looking at the blood that stained them. Her eyes met his, an icy, blue stare. "I cannot stay. I cannot stay. I cannot stay…" she walked away, her white dress fluttering in a nonexistent breeze, the bright white a stark contrast to the darkness.

Éomer reached out his hands, but they were turned black with dried blood, and then he collapsed.

Éomer awoke with gasping breaths, curled into a tight ball. His chest was constricted and sweat dripped from his forehead. It was early morning and the pale spring sun was rising outside of his room slowly. He heard a rooster from so village farm down in the valley. He saw Théodred again, laying, dying, and waiting for him. He knew that he could not let those orcs pass through Rohan and kill another person. He would not live with the blood of innocent people on his hands. Hope had been lost when Théodred had died. Let Grima imprison him, banish him, kill him… he would not let Grima kill any other person through lack of action.

He left the Golden Hall cautiously and told the few people he met that he was returning to Aldburg. He found many of his men quickly and they found the others. By the time the sun had risen over the fields, his éored was galloping away towards Emyn Muil, and the band of orcs. For what task they had been sent through the land he did not know, but Éomer did know that they would not complete it.

They halted near noon, and scouts who had been sent ahead; quickly found that a large group of orcs had come from Emyn Muil. Éomer stood up and faced his men who were sitting and eating.

"My faithful men, you have followed me many places, but now I do not think it fair for you to follow me without knowing the full consequences of your actions. I have been told that if I pursue this group of orcs and detain it that I will be thrown in prison, and possibly killed. I will not force any man to follow me against his will. So I bid you to choose, follow me and stop these orcs from committing grave crimes against us or return to Aldburg to the captain Dengal," Éomer finished and sat down again beside his horse.

An older soldier named Éothain stood up and addressed Éomer, "My lord, we will serve out our duty to you and our country, if we do not slay these orcs it is greater treason to Rohan then to disobey the king's orders and leave them be. We have all talked of it before you said anything and agreed we will all stay."

"Thank you Éothain, thank you all. If you are truly resolved, then let us ride for the enemy has not rested this whole time, and they will be nearing the outskirts of Fangorn forest. We will surround and attack them in the night."

The éored mounted up silently and followed the orc's trail towards the forest. The group spotted them and with a loud cry they struggled to escape from the horsemen. Éomer ordered the archers to pick off the stragglers one by one, and many fell unheeded by the rest of the group. A few orc archers responded in kind but the horsemen wheeled out of range of their arrows and then began their assault again. The sunset came, but the Rohirrim did not close in yet, but simply picked off all the orcs that lagged behind. They were coming upon the darkness of the forest. Éomer ordered them to stop for a while when the orcs seemed to be gaining strength in the darkness. He had fires built up out of bowshot from the orcs, who had also stopped at the eaves of the forest. It was either a choice to face the Rohirrim or enter into Fangorn. He had not counted on such a large group.

When they were settled down, Éomer took with him a few me and crawled to the edge of the hill where the orcs camped. There they slew several orcs and then signaled for their horses and galloped back to their camp. The best strategy was to kill as many as possible before real battle would have to be waged. A great outcry from the scouts who found the dead orcs set the whole camp of Rohirrim laughing.

Suddenly a company of orcs, at least thirty, who were not part of the group they had been chasing, attacked them. The riders fought them off, but were slowly being forced into the camp of the other orcs. The battle could not wait until full morning though it was growing lighter every moment. The new group was finally killed off, but the Uruks next to the forest were a different matter.

One of them had already killed five men. Éomer sliced through several orcs with his sword and speared two, but still the strong Uruk stood defending himself and slaying others. The third Marshal of the Mark dismounted and drew near brandishing his sword. The Uruk saw his keen glance and put up his own blackened blade. They sparred until a stroke set the orc off balance and Éomer's sword penetrated his helmet at the eyes, stabbing through and instantly killing him. Dawn had come and the archers of his company chased the orcs who ran. The others carried the enemies' bodies and put them in a pile to be burned.

They had lost fifteen men and twelve horses, more than they had in many battles. Their bodies were buried in a mound and their spears stuck in the ground in a circle to ward off any evil. The deed had been done, but as he looked towards the mountains, he wondered at what cost.

* * *

**Note:** Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, just one more until the end, and then I'll answer all your reviews and thank you profusely for your encouragement. I will be editing all the chapters for congruency and grammar and then trying to finish The princess bride meets the Lotr. I will be revamping that story, combining chapters etc, so I probably will just turn it into a new story and upload the chapters that way, just in case any of you have been waiting for that update. Thanks again! 


	20. Weeping Moon

Chapter 20.

As Éomer and his men rode away the next morning the pile of orcs and Uruks burned in a pile, sending the smell of ash over the country. They now returned immediately to Edoras. Éomer wished that he could say he did not care what circumstances came of his rebellion but he could not. What if the king punished all his men as well? If he was thrown in prison or killed, how could Éowyn stand up to Grima alone? How could she avoid the not so subtle intentions of the advisor for her?

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the group heard a loud call.

They turned swiftly in a fluid motion and checked the speed of their horses as they surrounded the three people who were on foot and dressed strangely in cloaks with colors that seemed to move and change. He urged his horse forward and placed his spear at the chest of the leader, a man with dark hair who looked vaguely familiar.

Éomer spoke in the common tongue to them, "Who are you, and what are you doing in this land?"

The rough looking man answered, "I am called Strider. I come out of the North. I am hunting orcs."

Strider… why did that name remind Éomer of someone? Of course, the wizard's companion, the ranger. He did not voice his recognition but dismounted and gave his spear to another man. He drew his sword and stood next to Strider, examining him and his companions.

"At first, when you called out I had thought you were orcs, but now I realize that I was wrong. Indeed you know little of orcs if you go hunting them in this fashion. They were swift and well armed, and they were many. You would have changed from hunters into prey, if you had ever overtaken them. But there is something strange about you Strider, and your companions and your clothes. How did you escape our sight? Are you elvish folk?"

"No, only one of us is. Legolas is from the woodland realm of distant Mirkwood. But we did pass through Lothlórien and the gifts and favor of the lady go with us."

The lady? They must speak of the sorceress of the woods. When he had been younger his nurse had told him stories of the lady of the wood, who could lay you under her spell with a glance. What claims they made! "Then there is a Lady of the Golden wood, as old tales tell! Few escape her nets they say. These are strange days! But if you have her favor, then you also are net-weavers and sorcerers maybe," Éomer said, becoming quite flustered at these strange circumstances. He did not have time to discuss fairy-tales with strange people. He turned to the ranger's two companions.

"Why do you not speak silent ones?"

The dwarf humphed and gripped the handle of his axe, "Give me your name horse-master, and I will give you mine, and more besides," he finished in low tones with a threatening tones.

"As for that," replied Éomer gruffly, "the stranger should introduce himself first. Yet I am named Éomer son of Éomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark."

"Then Éomer son of Éomund, Third marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the dwarf son of Glóin warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you."

The soldiers around them turned their spears farther inward and their captain's eyes blazed, "I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

The silent one suddenly bent his bow and notched an arrow far to quickly for eyes to follow, "He stands not alone," he said in a strange, melodious tone, "You would die before your stroke fell."

Éomer had enough of this, he lifted his sword, but before it fell the ranger leapt between them. "Your pardon Éomer! When you know more you will understand why you have angered my companions. We intend no evil to Rohan, or to any of its folk, neither to man nor to horse. Will you not hear our tale before you strike?"

Éomer consented and sheathed his sword; "Wanderers in the Riddermark would be wise to be less haughty in these days of doubt. First, tell me your right name."

"First tell me who you serve, are you friend of foe of Sauron, the Dark lord of Mordor?"

"I serve only the lord of the Mark, Théoden King son of Thengel," he answered, "We do not serve the Power of the Black Land far away, but neither are we yet at open war with him; and if you are fleeing from him, then you had best leave this land. There is trouble now on all our borders, and we are threatened; but we desire only to be free serving no foreign lord, good or evil. We welcomed guests kindly in better days, but in these times the unbidden stranger finds us swift and hard. Who are you? Whom do you serve and at whose command do you hunt orcs in our land?"

"I sere no man," the ranger answered with fiery eyes, "but I pursue the servants of Sauron into whatever land they go. I do not hunt them in this fashion out of choice; they took captive two of our friends. In such need a man will go without a horse and not count the heads of the enemy save with a sword. I am not weaponless," he said throwing back his magical cloak and drawing a bright shining sword from its elven sheath.

"I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, the heir of Isildur. Here is the sword that was broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly," the ranger said. He no longer looked a gruff, wanderer but a king with eyes like crashing waves. Éomer found himself stepping back.

"These are indeed strange days, dreams and legends spring to life out of the grass. But tell me lord what is the reason you come here. Long ago Boromir the son of the steward went to seek an answer to a dream that had these dark words. What doom do you bring out of the North?"

"The doom of choice. You may say this to Théoden son of Thengel: open war lies before him, with Sauron or against him. None may live now as they have lived, and few shall keep what they call their own. Now I am in great need, and I ask for help, or at least for tidings. You heard that we are pursuing the orcs, what can you tell us of them?"

"The orcs are dead, we killed them in the night."

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn said earnestly.

"We left none alive, we piled the bodies and burned them," Éomer said looking back over his shoulder at the tall signal of smoke blowing in the air. "Men, leave me a while, assemble on the path and make ready to ride to Edoras." He ordered and watched them gallop away, "Tell me of your errand, Boromir left us to seek out Rivendell."

"Yes he came there. A company of us set out on a dangerous mission of which I cannot speak of now. Legolas, Gimli and I along with Boromir and four halflings went also. Gandalf the Grey was our leader."

"Gandalf? He is known here, but I warn you his name is no longer in the king's favor. Gandalf came last summer and warned us that Saruman was preparing for war. He said he was a prisoner of the wizard and needed a horse to carry him to Rivendell. He took Shadowfax, chief of all our horses and the king is wroth. The horse returned a week ago but suffers no one to either touch nor ride him."

"Then he has returned from the north, for it was there that he and Gandalf parted. Alas, Gandalf will ride no longer. He fell into darkness in the Mines of Moria and will not come again. Boromir also fell near the gap of Rohan defending our companions who were taken."

"All your news is sad and distressing," Éomer said calling his men over, "I will give you two horses, though I doubt you will find your friends. This only I ask, when your quest is complete, or is proved vain, return with the horses to Meduseld in Edoras. That way you will prove to him that I have not misjudged you. For I am already in the ill will of the court. Do not fail me in this, and Farewell," Éomer finished as they mounted the horses and then mounted Brynefot to join his men by the path.

They watched the strange companions ride away towards the pillar of billowing smoke. Many of the soldiers thought it strange for their Marshal to do this thing, but did not question him. They came to Edoras near early evening and as soon as they had entered the gates, a group of dark-haired soldiers approached Éomer and forced him to dismount. The clouds in the sky grew thick with anxiety.

* * *

"Éomer, third Marshal of the Mark, you are accused of treason, and willful disobedience to his majesty king Théoden. Come with us," they said and he had little choice but to let them carry him away. Brynfot and his men looked around nervously unsure whether to fight or to remain calm.

A shot of lightning hit the mountainside and sent a terrifying crack through the valley that set all the horses whinnying. Háma the door warden who had known Éomer since he was a child looked at him apologetically and opened the great doors as the soldiers dragged him inside. Stifling hot air filled the hall and left everyone looking exhausted and dirty. Grima's forehead dripped with sweat as he dismissed the people in the court and sat in the throne of Théoden with a smug look. The king was doubtless resting in his own quarters.

"I told you what would happen if you left Éomer," he said gesturing for the soldiers to release him.

"You have no right to sit in that seat Grima, you poison the wood and grain of it," Éomer said spitting at his feet.

Grima rose with a smile and an odd chuckle, "But my dear boy, I alreadyhave this seat, it matters not if your uncle sits in it, I control it. And now I control you. How very foolish to do something so rash. Théodred is dead, and now I have orders to throw you in prison."

"Your orders mean nothing, you have no authority here," Éomer said calmly as the snake approached.

"Yes, but I do have this, signed by the king, which gives me the authority to imprison you. Besides what is to stop me now, with both you and your cousin gone there is only one other thing to take care of. That would be your lovely sister, as the only heir, we will marry and as we take our vows it will make me very happy to know you are dead."

With a loud, animal shout Éomer pushed Grima against a pillar and squeezed his neck tightly. The snake's pale skin slowly turned blue. Strong hands pulled him away and slammed his head against another pillar causing his nose to spurt forth blood. Thundering blows hit his sides and caused him to crumple in his captor's grip. He struggled uselessly as they dragged him out of the Hall, by some back door and brought him to the prison building which stood opposite of the stables. Many people watched as he was dragged away. Éowyn was one of them, from the stables she had heard the commotion and she rushed towards the Hall when she discovered there was no way to reach her brother.

Once inside Meduseld, she found only a few servants who did not know of his arrest. She then angrily tried to find Grima. She found him waiting for her in the king's study. He rose as she entered and took her hand gently in his own. She brushed it aside and stepped back behind a table.

"What have you done to my brother, snake?"

"My dear Éowyn, he committed treason and tried to murder me in the Hall. It has been discovered that he has many spies in this court, one of who was given orders to kill you and your uncle also. I know this pains you to hear this, but your brother was trying to claim the throne for himself," he said with lowered eyelids.

"Your words will not affect me Wormtongue, your lies have poisoned this land too long already."

Grima stepped forward quickly and took her hand in a vice like grip, his eyes were dangerous, "My lady, I would take care what you say. Your brother and cousin are gone, and your uncle would agree to anything at this point. You will take my hand in marriage, whether by free will or not," he said his grip slowly becoming less.

Éowyn nodded in supplication and he let go of her hand for a moment. Quick as lightening she used her freed hand to hit him in the face and push him back onto the floor. She ran out of the room with a thumping heart and locked herself in her own room. Weary she fell onto the bed, but did not weep. If she were forced to marry this cur then she would spill his blood on their wedding night.

* * *

When they reached the prison, the warden simply nodded as if he had been expecting them for many days. Éomer could readily believe that Grima had been planning his imprisonment since he had left to save Théodred. The man sneered with a crooked grin and in a sickeningly sweet voice he spoke.

"Make sure not to kill him men, just bruise him up a little. Let him know the consequences of disobeying the king," the warden said his two front teeth gleaming like a rat's.

They led him to a cell and threw him in against the wall. His head slammed against the corner of the barred window, and warm blood flowed freely down from the wound. He had no time to try and ascertain the wound's seriousness. Two arms lifted him up and locked his arms as a strong fist hit him in the nose. It sounded loudly with an unhealthy crack. Another blow to the stomach and his eyes blurred, his vision dying. The blows continued until they were satisfied that he was in sufficient pain. The coppery taste of blood was in his mouth. They left him to slump against the cold, rough floor, hands bound behind him.

* * *

Éowyn walked to her window and looked out bleakly at the stars. The moon was round and full and she could almost hear Éomer's voice from many years ago. _"The great King Eorl looks down from the moon. You can see his outline when it is full. Do not be afraid tonight, nothing can harm you when I am a room away and our great ancestor is watching you."_

She had fled to his quarters when nightmares filled her head for many weeks after their mother's death. After relocating to Edoras nothing had seemed enough to protect her from the dreams except Éomer. Her eyes filled with unshed tears, but she blinked them back and turned her back to the window.

* * *

Éomer grabbed the bars over the jail window and strained to look up at the moon. His neck still ached, and his head bled a little. He breathed the night air and watched the stars; the moon was still high in the middle of the sky out of his sight. He had failed once again. Yet another stunning defeat to add to his long record. He was almost afraid to sleep again but his strength was waning and his eyes slowly closing. He struggled to remember the comforting words he had spoken to his sister so long ago.

_"But what if there is not a full moon Éomer?" she had asked earnestly. He had struggled to find an answer, "Well when there is no full moon, Eorl rests. But when he rests the stars are still out. The whole line of our people watches us from the stars. Mother and Father are both there watching us, and they will never fade in our lifetime. Go to sleep."_

And he did resolutely, cold and curled up in the fetal position on the stone ground, which became wet with a few, small tears.

* * *

**Note:** Well that's it. I'm going to be doing a serious editing process on all my chapters to make them more readable, but that's as far as this part of the story is going to go. I hope you all enjoyed it. I will be working on my other stories before beginning part two of this story. There will be three parts total, the next will be the war of the ring to his marriage to Lothiriel. This is not set in stone, and it may turn out that I won't be able to post it for a long while. But that is the plan for right now.

This chapter was harder because I didn't know whether to go with the book or movie version, I settled on using mostly book dialogue with a couple of the movie lines. The meeting with Aragorn is strictly book based, but I have changed some of the lines, and cut some parts out to make it fit better with the way I write stories. So I hope that's not confusing, and for a full disclaimer please see the first chapter, I do not own any of the dialogue included in the lotr series of books or movies.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers! And thanks to my dad who has pretty much been my beta reader for this story.

Thanks to… isilhen, thekidmdd, Sirabella, Eokat, Angel of the night watchers, Southern son, Prince tyler briefs, harpo, dd9736, Beling, Domlando Blonaghan, diamondrose57, Mystikal, charliegirl2, kezya, Voldie on Varsity track, eowyngirl12, treebeardhugger and anyone I missed!

Special thanks to my three most consistent reviewers who have kept me writing! isilhen (yes there will be a part 2), eokat, and mystical.

Thanks so much everybody!


End file.
